#<-she featured enough to warrant a mention

[felixravinstills]

okay i’m going to send to separate asks because i might be weird-girling too close to the sun with this one & you might just have to delete it. BUT. close your eyes cannibal au (what happened to her father…no one knows…delicious beef stew though….)

Okay! This fic got so much longer than anticipated! 2.5k+ Close Your Eyes Cannibalism AU that might as well be original fiction (for the first chapter) with how OC centric it is! The second will (hopefully) be Persephone centric friendship, but I’ll work on other AU requests before I get to that for fairness!

Don’t worry, Lily! We can weirdgirl too close to the sun together! I will be out of town (probably still online but not as frequently) and I’m leaving y’all to ponder this!

Also to the others who requested something, don’t worry! I’ll get to it but it might take me a second!

[creatingblackcharacters]

No, That’s Not ‘How Color Works’. - Whitewashing

Whitewashing, as defined by Merriam-Webster:

"to alter (something) in a way that favors, features, or caters to white people: such as a) to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people and B) to alter (an original story) by casting a white performer in a role based on a nonwhite person or fictional character"

In fandom context, we know it to include:

Making someone’s skin lighter

Making someone’s hair a thinner texture

Changing someone’s nose to be thinner

Shrinking their lips

Changing the character in their entirety to be someone else

The Normalization of Whitewashing

Remember how I mentioned last lesson that despite the nature of poorly drawn Black characters, most audiences are not turned off enough to discourage the action in professional works? Similar idea with whitewashing. Not the same- unlike the Ambiguously Brown Character, which claims to have plausible deniability, overt whitewashing is usually enough to make fans speak up! But that’s the key word here- overt! It has to be “bad enough” to make enough people speak up, but as we’ve seen many a time, “bad enough” seems to have a much higher threshold for nonblack viewership (sometimes the limit doesn’t exist!)

Some visual examples

This is a link to my personal thread on a Netflix show I was watching- Worst Ex Ever. Now, while the show itself was quite enlightening, there was something I could not get over. I thought I was going crazy. And that was that no matter how dark the person of color would be in real life, the animated portions would draw this light pinkish-brown. Every. Single. Time. It's like they couldn't fathom scrolling down the color wheel. And this is a Netflix original! Netflix has plenty of money for someone to have caught this in creation. But... it was produced. And put out. And they're making more of it.

I asked all of the Dragon Age fans about the series, and uh… I didn’t know things were this bad, guys! Apparently this is a man of color, but it doesn't seem like the creators want you to know that 🤣. Jokes aside, as I’ve discussed before, the noticeable whitewashing- and that was one of many racist things I was told- was not enough to prevent sales... so why would they stop? I can only hope this new game, with all the updates, is enough to turn the tide. But the series has gone on for a while now, that if they’d chosen to do ye same olde… there clearly would not be a lack of financial support to prevent it.

Colorism as a Tool

Even when actors of color are cast, colorism often plays a role in normalizing whitewashing to audiences, even to Black audiences! People think “oh well at least they’re Black!” as if that is the only important part. It is not.

While Aaron Pierre, the actor cast for John Stewart of Green Lantern fame, is a GORGEOUS, STUNNING man, he is not the dark-skinned man that John Stewart is supposed to be and should not have been cast! To me, this is overt colorism, but clearly for many people this is not “enough” to warrant concern or even prevent the casting itself- including the studio behind the movie! Black fans have plead for years for the character of Storm to be played by a dark-skinned, preferably African, woman, and it has never happened.

It naturally happens in fan spaces as well, which is another indicator that colorism as a tool for whitewashing is quite effective for audiences. If I see one more Zendaya fan cast for Kida from Atlantis, I will scream. It’s been happening for years, and I don’t think any of the people who just want to see her and Tom on screen either understand or care that Kida is a dark-skinned character. Zendaya doesn’t look anything like Kida- it doesn’t matter if she’s Black too! Just because someone is Black does not mean they can play every single Black character! I’ve even seen people fancast Emilia Clarke of Game of Thrones fame, to which… I don’t have the words. I can’t fathom what would cause these decisions other than racism.

The Common Excuses

I must be honest. I don’t really feel like re-iterating how certain things are not okay and how to fix them, because I’ve already discussed these things in massive detail. So I’m just going to direct the excuses I regularly hear to my lessons, where you can read up on them.

“Their hair/eyes are like that because they’re biracial so-”

Relevant Lessons: 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 8, 9, 10

There is nothing wrong with having biracial characters with a range of features. I am not saying that! Because yeah, genetics do happen!

But I mentioned this in my last lesson, and I will re-emphasize here, that using biracial identity as a way to whitewash is a sinister form of racism. The intention here- the real intention- is the issue here! The idea that somehow this character can only look the way you want them to look by "diluting" their Blackness… I don’t know how you can explain yourselves out of that one.

You don’t get to use us as an excuse for diversity while still trying to maintain your preference for Eurocentric beauty standards. Black biracial people don’t always look light skinned, thin-haired and ambiguous, and even the ones that do don’t deserve to be treated as your fetish for pretend antiracism. If you just want to draw a white person with a tan, do that. But don’t change a character’s entire look just so you can work in some whiteness. If you want to claim that canon Black character’s mother was white, then I guess they inherited some of her personality because their features should not change.

“It’s my style/It’s the color-”

Relevant Lessons: 3, 4, 10

I hate all excuses for whitewashing, but I’ve grown to despise, hate, abhor and loathe this one the most as I’ve become an artist. I wish there were stronger words to describe just how much I hate the “style” and “color” excuse.

Are style and use of color oft intertwined? Absolutely. I’m not saying they aren’t. But out of everything, there are two things I want artists to understand:

1. Style does not cancel out racism! No style forces you to choose ashy greys and to change peoples’ features. That’s you! If you look at something, and it looks offensive, you change the style. You grow as an artist!

2. “Everyone who is brown will look ashy so I just-” if you recognize that your Black characters look strange in comparison to your nonblack characters, then it’s time to try something else! I don’t understand this sudden need for “realism” when it comes to color and lighting, but not when it comes to hair, for example. No one cares about realism when giving every and all Black characters wavy tresses they probably wouldn’t have, but suddenly milquetoast watercolor attempts at brown and off-putting lighting is “how it works”. That’s not fair.

The color picker is an available tool! I use it often!

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if someone gets the outfit color palette right via color picking, but the skin color is multiple shades lighter. That means they were looking at that character and chose not to proceed.

Dead giveaway of purposeful whitewashing: if the white characters in the show are completely correct in their palettes. Again, that means they cared enough to look at everyone else… and not the Black characters.

If you use the color picker and the color picked is… disrespectful, you do not have to use that! You can simply choose a better color that is still similar to the brown that ought to be depicted!

“It’s the lighting-”

Relevant Lessons: 4, 5

If your white characters do not shine like snow in the sunlight because of your lighting, then your lighting does not make your Black characters suddenly light tan.

If your Black characters look bad in your lighting of choice- for example, putting a very dark-skinned character in electric white lighting can be ghastly- try changing the intensity or the color of the lighting. DON’T change your character’s skin color!

I'm going to show you some pictures of South Sudanese model Nyakim Gatwech. Pay attention to the choices of light, color, and makeup.

Look how BEAUTIFUL she is! Look at the choices of intensity and color of light, and how they make her look different in each image.

Now look at this image in comparison:

In this image, whoever did her makeup and took this picture did not take into consideration her skin tone. She's also under this really intense lighting. This is an example of "increasing the lighting does NOT make an image "better"". She didn't need to have lighter skin or "more lighting" to look good. She needed BETTER lighting, lighting that worked with HER.

To see this as an example in drawn art, @dsm7 makes an excellent argument for proper lighting and color, why it is an issue to use it as an excuse, and how to solve that problem.

‼️DISCLAIMER FOR NEXT EXAMPLE‼️

Okay. I am about to show y’all a fan-created example from my personal experience. It is a TEACHING EXPERIENCE ONLY. I am not including the artist’s name in this image. It happened a couple years ago, and it’s over- they’ve chosen to be who they are despite me kindly confronting them about it. The only reason I’m including it at all is because I feel like it would be remiss to have such a clear-cut, multi-level example, and not teach with it. That said, no, I am not telling anyone to act out towards them. Again, that is not what I’m telling you to do. The last thing I need is a literal lynch mob of angry nonblack viewership for trying to teach you all, and y’all sitting there watching it happen to me. Every example of whitewashing is not going to be so obvious, but I hope you learn how to spot the examples in the art you see and share.

I'm obviously a Hades fan, particularly of Patroclus- despite my disdain for the lack of effort in his canon character design. So I've seen a lot of things. That said:

“Well it’s just MY design of them-”

Relevant Lessons: ALL

The sepia coloring did not do this. The lighting did not do this. The design is the exact same as the Hades version, even down to the shape of the hair curling in the back. The only thing that is different… is the man himself.

Y'all. Y'all! You CANNOT take a pre-existing Black character and say “oh well this is my design of them” …and the design is of a whole white person. Because if the rest of the fit is the same, and the only thing that changed is the Blackness… Racism. If you’re going to “make up your own design”, then do that!

“Blackwashing”

Speaking of: I’m sure someone edgy out there thinks they’re so smart as they retort to the screen: “but if that’s not okay, then why is Blackwashing okay?” To which I say- shut up. 😐

The “definition” by fandom: making a nonblack character Black, usually an anime character, but characters in general.

Funny enough, the actual definition in the dictionary (or closest to) is “to defame”, in contrast with whitewash (as in whitewashing history). Maybe racist fans ARE using it correctly when they say you’re blackwashing their characters, when they mean you’re making them “less likable because they’re Black now”. 🤔

Anyway: Blackwashing is not real for the same reason reverse racism is not real.

Me painting these characters brown is not going to take away from the fact that there are far more of you in media than there is of me. Me saying that I ‘headcanon a character as Black with 4C hair’ is not going to make the studio go “oh! Well they must be Black with 4C hair now!” Me saying “oh I think I’d like this character better if they were Black” as a beta tester (less overtly, obviously, because I’m not racist!) will never make a studio change that character. Black viewers have minimal value in comparison to the power of the white viewer’s dollar. I could draw white characters Black every single day of every single game media… and they would still produce majority white characters. There has not been centuries- if not millennia, when we consider Jesus Christ himself, even- of purposeful “Blackwashing” with the intent of removing the original ethnicity- and thus importance- of white people. No one has ever been allowed to forget when someone is white. No one has ever been allowed to forget or not acknowledge white people.

How it could be "solved"

Personally, I love Black edits and I welcome them here. I find them creative and fun. But if you really, REALLY didn’t want us to make those edits, then naturally, we need more Black characters in all of our media!

I wouldn’t have to make edits if I saw more of me to begin with in the things I like to watch- but when we have those characters, racists act an ass about them. We’re not allowed to even be present! I’ve seen too many gamer bros mocking the existence of Yasuke in Assassin’s Creed, and he was a real ass man. But if we made a game about African peoples in African societies, how many of the gamer bros would actually play those games? Do you think there’d be as much support, when we hear so much about Black characters that are treated so abhorrently? How many games do we have where people would love their faves just as much if they were Black? I even learned that Solas was apparently supposed to be a man of color. IMAGINE how many people would not have liked that man, with the same exact plot and characterization.

Something I’ve noticed recently: apparently "Blackwashing" is not a thing when White fans “allow” it. Take this recent trend with Miku. International Miku was beloved! But if you draw any other character as Black on any other day, there will be people that are horrid about it. Ask any artist, Black artists and Black cosplayers especially, who’s ever done it what their comments are like. I’ve read entire missives akin to white supremacist drivel on how it’s somehow morally wrong to make characters Black. Meanwhile no amount of “hey maybe you shouldn’t do this” prevented the movie Gods of Egypt from being created, with a cast full of British White people.

Solutions to Avoiding Whitewashing!

1) Using References!!

Do I think you should know what Black people look like? Yes. We’re humans. It’s 2024. Everyone knows what we look like when it’s time to hate and discriminate against us, so you know what we look like when it’s time to love and depict us. If you’re on Tumblr, you have access to the Internet. ESPECIALLY if you’re in the U.S., as Black people are the source of damn near every piece of online pop culture. If you can find my dialect to make my jokes, you can find pictures of me.

Would I rather you use a reference every single time so that you can only strengthen your depiction of my people? ABSOLUTELY.

Anyone on the Internet telling you not to use a reference or that you shouldn’t need a reference? Unfollow them. You don’t need that negativity in your life. Why would you deprive yourself of a tool to create? The greatest portrait painters in history had to look at their subjects! You are not getting paid nearly as much to do this as Hans Holbein, and he had to stare at Henry VIII correct else lose his head- you can pull up multiple references. I’d far rather be judged for using hella references than be judged for being a racist!

Part of the issue is people draw what they’re used to, what they’re comfortable with (thus last lesson). But if what you’re used to is not what someone will look like… That’s not okay. Their features are not the issue, your skills are the issue. Learn! Practice! There is no rush. No one is rushing you to be perfect at drawing Black characters, and no one is rushing you to post them. You can just practice! If you’re not a professional, you can take as long as you need to draw! If you need to draw that piece of hair over and over until you feel like you have down the shape, you do that! If you need to use a tool that would draw the hair for you, you get that tool!

If you want to post, you can say you are practicing! If you make clear you are practicing, then be willing to accept that people may have feedback. I’d far rather deal with someone saying they’re unconfident and practicing, than someone posting a whitewashed caricature and closing their ears because “well at least I’m trying!”

2) Empathize! Care about actual Black people when you create a Black character!

Imagine, if you will, in the Twilight Zone: you went to an artist, and you asked for a white character (I typed in “regular looking white dude” on google). There’s hardly ever any white characters, you’re so super excited about this one! You paid good money, because you’ve seen just how amazing this artist creates! They’re so good at drawing characters of color! But no matter how many times you ask, they send you back an image of… Assad Zaman.

That man might be fine as hell! Gorgeous! Beautifully done! Chef’s kiss. Stunning! But… He’s not white. That’s not what you asked or paid for. You can’t even fathom how they mixed this up, they don’t even look alike! And when you confront them, they gaslight you, they call YOU the issue for not understanding how you can’t tell that this is a white man! They would never get this wrong! They have white friends, you’re the racist! But you’re not stupid, and you have functioning eyes- you can SEE what this drawing looks like! And… It’s not you.

It’s dehumanizing. It’s being told that there’s a “better way” to look like you, and that’s by… Not looking like you. You, as you exist, are what’s incorrect. Your identity is incorrect, not their drawing. It’s better to have thinner hair instead of an afro or locs, it’s better to have lighter skin, it’s better to have a straighter, thinner nose over a round one, and smaller lips.

And what makes it worse is knowing that people who don’t look like you? Probably won’t care. They won’t be willing to see- not unable, but unwilling- that playing with this caricature is harmful, that they’re propagating harm by not acknowledging it. They’re letting you know that your humanity means less to them than the clout received with a whitewashed or half-assed Black character, and that people will applaud them for that ‘attempt at inclusion’. And people will applaud! They will be entertained by the mere performance! And that hurts.

I’m going to say this, and it’s awkward and I try not to say it directly on here, but… Having Black friends and/or being around actual, real life Black people would help. I can tell from some of the questions I receive that Black characters and their traits- especially things like our hair and our cultures- are being treated as… alien concepts. But even if, for whatever reason, you legitimately don’t know any Black people, you do not need to know us individually to care about our humanity as a whole! Even if you do not know we’re there, we are, and we could possibly see your work!

By acknowledging Blackness and making room to understand what it means- and that includes how we can look- you are doing the bare minimum of acknowledging our personhood. If you cannot do even that, you don’t need to be drawing us.

Conclusion

Here’s the thing: if you want to draw a white man with tanned skin, do that. Just do it! You do NOT have to erase me to have more of you! There is not a single fandom where the majority of the white fans ever said “gee, not another white guy!” It simply doesn’t happen. God knows we wish it did sometimes. You will always have an audience for white characters. There’s no danger to any of you of “being erased”.

(Without putting on my political hat, I will say that a lot of white people who consider themselves to be far from white supremacist will express beliefs in line with great replacement theory if you push them hard enough. It is unfortunately not as uncommon an idea as you might think. I would do some self-evaluation.)

People are going to notice that you only ever draw white people, but… To be frank, that has never stopped anybody from being successful. Again, Jen Zee, at Supergiant with the terrible dark-skinned characters… Still has a job. at Supergiant. A professional studio. Dragon Age. Multiple games of consistent whitewashing and racist writing. Still going. If racism prevented creation and popularity, I wouldn’t have to have this blog. Alas, that is the society we currently live in.

But if you ACTUALLY want to depict Black characters, if you ACTUALLY want to do right and be respectful- not because you want the clout, but because it’s the right damn thing to do- then you need to commit! This means drawing them as they are meant to be! Accept that you’ll likely lose some fan base, who was there (whether they were aware of it or not) for the white and lighter skinned characters. Accept that this means that trying to appeal to those people by whitewashing characters is 1) wrong, 2) racist, which is 3) something you chose to do when you could simply have just… Drawn more white people.

I’ll say it again: antiracism is hard. It’s hard doing the right thing in a society that rewards racism so easily. It’s really hard knowing that people will stop supporting you or caring as much about your work when you start including Black characters as actively as you do white ones, especially if you start talking about the importance of it. But in my honest opinion, I’d far rather be someone that cared about others, with genuine fans, than someone that was racist for the fleeting internet clout of strangers. And that may be less ‘hopeful’ than I normally am in these lessons, but… People make choices. And people who have been informed- as you are now- are aware of the choices they are making. It’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers- let’s choose better actions.

[obliviouscxnt]

Control Azriel x Reader

a/n: I'm so lost, i don't know what I'm doing. Still learning how to use tumblr but in the meantime, welcome to the first fic i feel like posting.

synopsis: feyre's growing curiosity about you sparks some personal questions.

Warnings: mentioned SA, fluff, hints of sexual activities

pt.2 | pt.3

One of the first friends Feyre made in the Night Court was you. You reminded her of the twin wraiths in a way. Never saying much, if anything at all. Maybe that was one of the reasons she liked you so much. 

You didn’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s presence. Feyre had as much fun sitting in silence with you as she did on a night out with Mor. 

But as time passed, as Feyre became a constant in the Night Court, she had grown curious. She wanted to know more about you like she did the others. 

So she started asking you questions, and to her surprise, you would answer her. Your answers weren’t clipped, or vague. You never sounded annoyed with her, you were completely open and honest with her. 

“How long have you known everyone?” Feyre had asked while you gently played with her hair, her scalp tingling at your touch. 

You thought about it for a moment. “Over two hundred years now.” 

She tilts her head, so apart from her you were the newest member of the inner circle. “How did you meet?” She asks, shivering as the tingles travel down her spine.

You start braiding a few small strands from the front of her face as you speak. “My kind are far different from other Fae.” Feyre practically perks up at the words. She knew you weren’t high fae but she never bothered saying anything about it, she barely even noticed it most of the time not nearly enough to warrant a discussion. “They hail from no court, and bow to no lord, not even the Mother is with their thoughts.”

Feyre tried to imagine what that would be like, how they would act, what traditions they’d carry. She thought of your features, the ones that stood out among other high fae. Your ears didn’t point, your nails were like claws, and your teeth bore long sharp canines on both the top and bottom of your mouth, but the features that stood out the most were the ones you kept hidden. 

Feyre saw them once, your wings. The first time she met you. Like they were just there for a formal introduction. They were big, beautiful, and intricate. They looked like moth wings, and fluttered like them too. Opening and closing slowly when you were lax.

Immediately when Feyre saw them, she felt like painting again, she could barely keep her eyes off them, barely keep herself from reaching out a hand to touch them. Maybe that was the reason for their absence in the next visit; all that remained of the glorious appendages was precise ink that lined the whole of your back, a tattoo of folded wings. 

From the way they folded, they almost formed a natural cape. She wondered how far your tattoo ran, the extravagant fabrics of the dresses you wore only showed so much. 

She pictured a whole colony of people that looked like you and immediately felt like painting again.

“It’s why nobody can do anything about their backward ways, they listen to nobody but themselves. Believe no one but themselves.” All preconceived thoughts of your people turn sour with your words. 

“The things they’ve done, they still do…” You release a shaky breath as you finish the small braids and set them aside.

Feyre turns to look at you when your delicate hands part with her hair. She finds you sorting through a box of hair ornaments, but your eyes are clouded. Not even the most glorious of diamonds could shine through that fog. “You don’t have to...“ 

You blink out of your daze and wave her off as you pull out a few gem-encrusted pins and show them to her. Waiting for her to give you a nod of approval before pulling out a stunning bejeweled silver comb and repeating the same process. Your collection was truly marvelous. 

“When I was saved, it was my first Flowering Night.” You spoke the words with barely concealed bitterness. “A night where all mature unpaired females are sent into the woods for any participating males to hunt down and take as they please.” 

You tuck back the small braids with the sparkling pins. Feyre listened as you continued, she wanted to say something but what would she say?

“No one could run very far from our community, the woods of the Middle hold no mercy. It was either hide and hope you make it till dawn without being spotted by a male. Or die to the other horrid creatures that live in those woods.” 

Feyre’s heart ached for you, her sorrow a tangible thing able to be smelt in the air. And you squeezed her shoulder, you comforted her. Her sorrow only increased. You never deserved any of it.

“I chose the latter.” You carefully place the comb into her hair, finding it in yourself to smile at the final product. You still fiddle with a few strands until you feel pleased. “A close encounter with death led to the discovery of my gift,” 

Dreamwalker, Rhys had called you.  An ability so rare even Helion’s exquisite library had very little information on it. 

Feyre loosely understood that you could enter another person's dream. Could manipulate it as you wish, to serenity or to a blood-curdling nightmare. But what made you so powerful, what made you such a valuable asset to the Night Court was your ability to bring dreams to life. All manner of dreams. 

However, your ability was sparsely used for court matters, and only necessary people knew of it. You were their trump card. Something nobody would see coming. 

Feyre would never forget the time you had a nightmare, sending half the court in preparation for battle. She’d also never forget the way Azriel had fought off the nightmare incarnate to get to you. How he charged forward without an ounce of hesitation. While Rhys had stood protectively in front of Feyre, and Cassian’s siphons flared from beside her, providing a shield around them.

Feyre had realized then that Azriel would go to hell and back for you. 

Feyre turns to face you, to look you in your enchanting eyes now that you are finished playing with her hair. “I was barely a woman, I didn’t know the first thing about defending myself. I didn’t know what this gift was.” She watched you raise a hand, small stars forming and trailing your fingers, blinking and shimmering as you played with them. “What good is a gift this powerful if you don’t know what to do with it? It’s as good as a broken blade.” 

Feyre’s breath leaves her body when you pull down the shoulder of your elegant emerald gown, revealing a long jagged scar running diagonally across your chest. The skin puffed up from how deep the gash was. “I would’ve died if it weren’t for Azriel.” 

The high fae’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly. 

“He heard me screaming. And he came for me.” You pull the shoulder back up and smile. Actually, smile. Feyre had never known someone like you, someone able to flip such a horrid memory around. Someone so able to pick out the good amongst the bad. “It wasn’t until a century later that I finally accepted his invitation to the Night Court and met everyone else.”

Feyre found herself grabbing your hand and squeezing. So grateful you had accepted his invitation. 

You squeeze back. 

“You’re so strong.” Feyre says, furrowing her brows when you laugh like she had told a joke. 

“It wasn’t strength that led me here, Feyre.” You tell her. Once again she wanted to paint you, but she felt like she wouldn’t be able to do you justice. “It was fate.”

A knock sounds at the door. 

“Come in.” Feyre calls and you both look to the opening door. Two incredibly attractive Illyrian men stand at the doorway. 

Rhys smiles at the sight of you two, eyes raking over the hairstyle you’d given Feyre. “You look lovely, Feyre darling.” Her face heats as you smile in triumph. 

“Say goodnight.” Comes Azriel’s voice in that tone he only used on you. 

You obey his command without a second thought, giving Feyre a light hug and giving Rhys a small bow before scurrying toward Azriel’s waiting arm. 

You fall into step with him as his hand lands on your lower back. But before the two of you could disappear you tug on his shirt, prompting him to stop only long enough for you to turn back toward Feyre and say a final goodnight. “Dream well Feyre!” Then he continued leading you away to your shared chambers. 

The mated pair watch you two travel away. Rhys with a look of content for you and his brother. Feyre with a new curiosity. 

She couldn’t help but be curious about the dynamic you and Azriel had. The way that dynamic bled into the interactions you had with your friends. How you always asked for permission before doing something and always jumped up whenever anyone asked you to do something. Rhys seemed to catch on to that curiosity. 

He decided to save you the embarrassment of Feyre asking you herself. He had enough of an understanding of you to know when something would make you uncomfortable, no matter how much you said otherwise. 

You’d always answer any questions asked of you openly and honestly, whether you wanted to or not. It was one of the reasons many were at first against your visits with Feyre, himself included. The newly turned fae was far too oblivious to your situation to recognize when she was taking advantage of your obedience. But you assured Rhysand repeatedly that Feyre never bothered you with her questions. That you enjoyed her presence just as much as she, hopefully, enjoyed yours. 

Much to everyone’s delight, Feyre regarded you with gentleness and awe from the very start. It was the effect you had on people. It was the reason Azriel didn’t put up a fight about leaving your visits unsupervised.

“[name] was raised by cruel people, they taught her that in a relationship the male's word is law. Her people think a female is expected to give up any and all control to her male. It’s one of the few things she never was able to condition herself out of, Azriel helps her by providing that control she needs.” 

Feyre thinks about that, face heating at the images it created. She wondered what that would be like, to surrender herself completely. “So if he told her to jump off the nearest bridge…?” 

“She’d do it, with zero hesitation.” 

Rhys smirks, knowing glint in his eyes as his gaze runs over the blush that coated her face. 

“But he’d never ask something like that of her. He knows her inside out, knows when something is too much or not enough.” He steps closer to her, delighting in the way her breathing picks up. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think your interest in this topic was more than innocent curiosity.” 

“Well, do you?” Feyre asks, making his eyes narrow. “Know any better?” 

Rhys’s gaze becomes dark. “Nope.” 

****

“Did you enjoy your time with Feyre?” You sigh at his voice, the comfort it brings you. You find yourself leaning into him, and he allows it. 

“It was nice.” You say truly. It felt like it was easier to breathe now that Feyre had more of an understanding. “She asked about how we met.” 

The hand on your back pulls you closer to him as if he were remembering that day. Remembering what you looked like as that hideous creature held you down, slicing into you. The way you flinched away from him after he’d slayed the creature. The sheer dress that you wore, If it could even be called that. He could still picture everything so vividly. 

How you eventually submitted to him, and how that made him sick. How he carried you out of the Middle and into the lands of the Night Court, never taking you into the cities. How for the next century after that he would visit you at the little private cabin only he and his brothers knew about, how he took care of you, and how he grew to love you. How you grew to love him in return.

He shoves those thoughts into the back of his mind as he opens the door to your shared chambers, walking you inside before shutting the door behind you. 

His hands move to your shoulders while he guides you to sit on the edge of the large bed, big enough to fit at least three winged beings. Hands brushing down your body as he kneels before you, settling on your ankle. He brings your foot up and rests it on his thigh before slowly unraveling the straps of your heel. Once finished he continued with the right heel, his touch nothing but confident from years and years of practice. 

A hand pats your thigh, letting you know he’s finished. Your eyes trail him as he heads toward the bathroom, you’d be happy to just look at him for the rest of your immortal life. 

You help Azriel, though he had no problem doing it for you, by taking off your jewelry one by one, setting each extravagant piece on the nightstand. By the time you're done Azriel’s waiting for you next to a full bath.

“Come.” He beckons from beside the large clawfoot tub. Hand outstretched and waiting for you. 

You saunter toward him, sighing as you let your brain just rest. Let him do everything for you. 

His hands are strong, and gentle, and secure all in one as they guide you out of your gown, his clothes following not long after. You sigh as he brings you into the tub. Positioning you so you sat between his legs, back to his front. 

Your eyelids slowly fall shut, coaxed by his soothing touch. Feeling nothing but content when he pushed your head back to lay on his shoulder, a gentle kiss pressed against your temple.

You were soon in a state of barely there, just teetering on the side of sleep but awake enough to move when he told you to. 

“Lean forward.”

His hands rub up and down your back, cleaning and massaging the skin there. You shudder in pleasure and he hums soothingly. Like cooing at a pet. You straighten up a bit when he taps the marked skin a few times, moving forward just enough for your wings to slowly peel away from your back. What was once ink on your skin, now real moving wings. 

“Spread.” And you do so, wings unfolding and stretching out completely. 

You shiver as his hands brush against them, making them twitch both away and toward him. As if they couldn’t decide whether the feeling it brought you was too much or not enough.

As always Azriel handled them with utmost care, humming when small noises of pleasure escaped you. When he was finished he tapped your shoulder to let you know, but you were too tired to summon the magic needed to conceal them.

Though, not tired enough to remember it was his turn. 

Slowly with lethargic movements, you turn to face him. Wings folding up again, forming a natural cape on your back. “Can I-“ You begin but catch yourself before you can finish. His narrowed eyes crinkled into a smile. Happy he no longer had to remind you of such a simple fact. 

Don’t ask to touch what is yours.

So instead you reach for the soap in his hands and begin to wash him. Taking satisfaction in the way his wound-up muscles, tense from hours of work, relaxed under your touch. The way his hands rested on your hips, squeezing every now and then appreciatively. The hums that left his mouth, no longer with the intent to soothe you but to let you know how pleased you made him. 

Your touches became increasingly distracted, sleep slowly leaving your system as your mind filled with nothing but him. 

He smirks, a mix of amusement and attraction. Allowing his own touches to become less innocent. His hands move to wrap around your wrists, dragging your hands down, down, and down his body. Soap long ago discarded. 

“Touch me.” He commands. 

And nothing could keep you from satisfying him. 

next→

[stellar-skyy]

♡ - LOST & FOUND - Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: Hell hath no fury like a parent whose child has been taken from them. ii. CWS & NOTES: description of blood and injury (mildly graphic but not gory), violence, mentions of kidnapping, swearing (like once), implied murder. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. angst & slight hurt/comfort. 2.5k words. iv. A/N: i am... so normal about parental arlecchino... so normal... i hope you enjoy because i loved writing this!! i have a little written for an epilogue featuring the lyntwins + freminet reuniting, so stay tuned for that ♡

It had been fifty-eight hours, and twenty-seven minutes since [Name] had vanished.

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.  

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.”

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

“Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”

reblogs are appreciated ♡

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

READY FOR LAUNCH? ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and one mention of drinking wine

a/n: the dead returns 😌 WE WILL NOT TALK ABOUT HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME TO GET AROUND TO OKAY? LETS ALL COLLECTIVELY IGNORE IT. KAY GREAT WONDERFUL anyways enjoy! also gasp too parts in one night? woah

you were bribed.

lia and riley had to beg, stacey was pestering you for days. you were firm on no until you were bribed with lia's mom's famous cookies. and anyone who's ever had one would know that her cookies are to die for.

so now you're sitting next to the asshole in question, both staring at your managers. "another good reason to go along with this is, a publicity boost-" stacey says continuing on with the list she had prepared to convince you both.

"i don't need publicity," you and percy say at the same time. lauren and stacey both hide smiles and continue on.

you're about too seconds away from leaving but stacey's warning look has you sighing and staying in the seat. percy groans as the two managers start to ramble on about a soft or hard launch. neither sound appealing.

"why did i agree to this shit again?"

☾. ⋅

"you post the launch this afternoon okay?" stacey says looking up from her paperwork to you.

you sigh, "fine whatever." a cough erupts from the the other side of the room and you look up to percy curled up on the furtherest chair from you as if your being physically repulses him.

after the photos you took this morning and yesterday it seems warranted. i mean you had to hold hands. gross.

"you know you too will have to be more friendly with each other in public right?" lauren asks from her spot next to percy.

"i can be friendly."

"ok let me re-phrase that," lauren pauses. "you're going to have to act... couple-y."

"... i can still do that."

you scoff at percy's words. "yeah right, you looked like you were about to throw up when we were taking photos earlier."

percy glares. his eyes scanning your face while he clenches his jaw in thought. "fine," he huffs standing up and walking towards you.

you panic slightly. whats he doing? whats going on? you look to stacey for an answer but her eyes are trained firmly on percy seemingly asking the same question.

he stops when he reaches your chair and drops down to a crouch so you're at eye level. "um.. what are you doing?" you ask.

he leans forward slightly so you're only inches apart. his eyes travel across your face as if memorising every feature, they stray to your lips - and falter there - before they return to your eyes. trying to diffuse some of the tension you tilt your head down avoiding eye contact. but a finger on your chin guiding your eyes back to his, has your head tilting back up. "eyes on me sunshine."

you're pretty sure you just gasped. maybe. a little bit.

"what are you doing?" you ask again, your voice barely a whisper.

a smirk overtakes he face and he speak loud enough for stacey and lauren to hear. "proving i can act like your boyfriend in public." he drops your chin as if it burnt him to touch you and walks away to his chair.

your face is on fire. "yeah, uh." you clear your throat. "that'll do i guess."

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, clarisse.la.rue, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest, yn's.team, and 1, 849,426 others

percyjackson so.....

view all comments

user1 Y/N'S TEAM LIKED THIS!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!!

user2 percy/n confirmed??

user6 PLS PLS PLS PLS

user3 i think i died a little omg

user4 omg a soft launch???

underovergrover congrats man

percyjackson thanks 😉

user5 someone become an fbi agent and tell me if thats y/n rn.

user6 PLEASE

user7 who is sheeeee???

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, pjackson.team, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams, the.annabethchase and 2, 748, 925 others

yn.official surprise!

view all comments

user1 HOLY SHIT!!!! THIS BASICALLY CONFIRMS IT

user2 SOFTLAUNCH SOFTLAUNCH SOFTLAUNCH!!!

user3 you cannot tell me that them posting a soft the same day one after each other means they're not together. i wont believe it.

lia.mandel ahhh congrats babes <333

yn.official 😘

user4 the teams like their posts??? percy/n is real!!!!

user5 IKK they couldn't have made it more obvious.

user6 ...i mean they could've hard launched?

user7 anyone else notice how their captions kinda line up? "so....." and "surprise!"

user8 delusion is strong with us today

rileywest happy for you !! 🤍

liked by yn.official

☾. ⋅

you look up from the thousands of comments on the post and over to the sleeping lumps on your couch. lia and riley decided to stay the night for moral support. we'll their idea of moral support is breaking out a bottle of wine and watching movies. they didn't even make it through the first one before they zoned out and fell asleep.

you sigh and glance down at the countless comments and likes on your post. the idea was to soft launch to get more suspense or 'attention' as lauren and stacey like to say.

it seemed simple enough except for actually getting the photos taken. that was a nightmare.

the next step is another post or two and then an outing. together. and then from there who knows.

let the games begin...

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it means i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee

@lovelyygirl8, @cleothefrogo, @sungjinwoomybeloved, @hearts4li,

[dracoxmalereader]

Go Home Early

Draco x Male Reader

Context: Draco works in the muggle world at a restaurant because [insert valid reason here] and reader is his muggle coworker that he has a crush on.

Summary: Draco walks into the kitchen only to find his favorite coworker sick as a dog on the clock.

Word Count: 913

“It’s fine, really-” 

“It’s not!” Your supervisor snaps, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “We may as well use you as a stovetop with the fever you’re running.”

That’s the scene Draco pushes through the door into. He slows as he approaches the scene, eyes flickering between you and her. You roll your eyes and muffle a sneeze into the tissue you’d just blown your nose with. 

“What’s gone wrong now?” He asks.

Your supervisor clicks her tongue. “Y/N decided it was a wonderful idea to come in sick.”

“It wasn’t that bad when I left.” You reason. Draco steps closer to the two of you as you talk. “I can still sweep floors at least.”

“Walking here in the cold wasn’t going to help! And we can’t have you rubbing your germs all over the broom.”

You scoff and scrunch your tissue into a ball before throwing it across the narrow aisle of the kitchen into an open trash can. Your legs swing, the backs of your shoes tapping idly against the cabinets of the metal counter you’re sat on. 

She prods at your puffy face, pushing it to either side a few times to get a better look at how swollen you are in the cheekbones. You reach for another tissue when she finally lets go with a sigh. 

Draco lingers awkwardly, watching. His brows furrow. Aren’t colds more dangerous for muggles?

“Seems like a lost cause if you’ll be sinking our entire tissue budget,” Your supervisor insists. “You’re better off just going home.”

The defiant whine you let out is half-gone and nasally, finishing hoarse before you’re breaking into coughs. “But what about Daniel, he’ll be-” 

“Go home.” At the mention of your shared manager, she cuts you off with a firm hand on your shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

You roll your eyes again but mutter a thanks under your breath regardless. Your eyes scrunch and you jerk through another sneeze. The white of the tissue draws contrast to the red hues rubbed raw into your nose. It’d be adorable if you didn’t have snot running down your upper lip.

“Right,” She steps back from you, turning to Draco. “Drive him home. He’ll just get even sicker if he walks.”

Draco makes a noise of panicked protest, one that falls on uncaring ears as she walks away and out of the kitchen entirely. He turns to look you in the eye.

“You don’t look all that sick.” Draco steps closer to you. He smooths his hands over your hair to hold it back and tilts your head to see your condition for himself; he lets it fall back into place once he’s thoroughly assessed and presses his palms into your skin.

You feel your cheeks heat up a little under the contact. You’re lucky it passes as another unfortunate symptom of your cold. His face cinches in further, concern etching into his features. 

“Suppose you are a little warm, though.”

“It’s nothing serious.” You assure him. His fingers are almost scalding on yours when you reach up to push them away with your free hand. “More importantly, nothing serious enough to warrant an in-house physical.”

His eyes flicker up and down your drained face, fingers itching at his empty pockets instinctively for a wand that isn’t there. If he were back home he’d have fixed this for you by now. 

Worry flares in his chest when you break into more coughing and blow your nose another time, shuddering through a series of full-body sneezes.

You hoarsely complain about the soreness in the skin, and Draco doesn't know if he wants to tell you to shut up for the sake of protecting your strained vocal chords or break the statute of secrecy so you won't have anything to complain about at all.

He swallows around an anxious lump in his throat, trying to remind himself that you aren’t nearly as fragile as his family would have made you out to be. He slings an arm around your shoulder and hoists you to your feet. Can't be that much worse than a curse of the bogies, right?

“Let’s get you home before you collapse.” He insists.

“I won’t collapse.” You chuckle under your breath, wet and snotty. “So dramatic, the both of you.”

“Would you rather I leave you to walk in the cold? I could use a second break.”

You huff in response, muttering a whatever.

You pat down your pockets to make sure everything is still there, stepping out of Draco’s loose hold. Even as your stuffy nose curls on a sneer, you begrudgingly head towards the exit. He lets out a huff of his own but can't fight the fondness that flurries up through his veins.

He follows you out the door with as even an expression as he can manage. When you're both settled in your seats and buckled in, he looks over to see you wiping your nose on your sleeve, a throaty groan of discomfort filling the small space.

As he goes through the motions of starting his car up and wondering what on earth do muggles fix their colds with, he decides it can’t hurt to stop by a store on the way. 

And if he doesn’t know what to get and buys you one of every cough syrup they offer? Well, he at least hopes you’ll keep your mouth shut and not embarrass him at work over it.

An ode to me getting over the plague (a cold) after a century in perilous toil. (like a week with a runny nose)

Yes you have a manager named Daniel. Yes I envisioned him as Daniel Radcliffe. Don't ask me how that works because I don't know. Imagine Draco just hates the guy's guts because he looks like Potter.

This is inspired by a random thought I got while I was overcoming my treacherous and life-threatening ailment:

Draco Malfoy would NOT know how to handle a muggle bf with a cold. That sheltered wizard rich kid would probably think you're about to pass away if he breathes on you too hard because he has no idea colds aren't a big deal for puny weak little muggles even without pepperup potion and counter-curses.

I thought that sign off was cute ^^ I feel so scholarly.

Good Yard,

Woof

Tags: @dyinginpeace @gayaristocrat @siuspider @melancoliaque @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222 @ashton-laufeyson @starr-writes @mqzze @itsfitzroyy @pinkb4t @daybreakmistakes @ronaldweasleyhowdareyou @freshfroggy @sadzaslicer

[renatogpadilla]

How Lux Met Jinx:

The locals called her "Isha, the Witch"...

Luxanna Crownguard, calls her "Firework". But it didn't start like that.

It had just been another day. That's what she referred to them now. "Another day". Another day of hiding who she was. Of hoping against hope she had enough Petricide Potion to keep her powers in check another day...

She needed a break. She needed to GO. So when she rode her beloved horse Starfire to a little village on the outskirts of Demacia to clear her head and heard about a Witch in the woods that even the Mageseekers were scared to go after? She cursed her own curiosity and immediately went to see who or what this being was. A distraction, she thought, to take the edge off. To meet a fellow Mage, and one that didn't fear the strict anti-magic sentiment the kingdom held for their kind at that! Lux was ecstatic...

It took her the full afternoon to find the little hut. A pretty, ramshackled thing. One story, made of what looked like straw and some gleaming bits of metal on the frames, like it had been cobbled together by someone who CLEARLY didn't know anything about architecture. She found it quaint. Cute.

And then, the next thing she knew, there was a sound, like a giggle, and she was hanging upside-down. She felt her foot hit something metallic right before... A trap, obviously. "The Mageseekers fear this woman. Why would there NOT be traps?", she thought, feeling the blood rush to her brain.

And then there was another sound, a soft click and then a hum, like a very large bug taking flight, followed by a voice that put her on edge immediately.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to wander the woods at night...?"

Oh, there was some CATSCRATCH in that voice. Lux felt her hands growing hotter by the second. If she lit up now...

"So, tell me. What's the name of the person who seeks me out today? And what is it you want? Curse a family? An enemy? A glimpse into the future?" The voice was getting louder and closer, the humming as well... "Not now." Lux thought. "PLEASE, not now!"

The figure came closer, finally moving around so Lux could get a clear look at her. "'Cause I'm warning you. I'm not that kind of Witch".

She was hooded, with a strange, cape-like jacket that looked like it had teeth on the top rim of her hood. A falling shock of blue hair made it look like her hoodie was sticking out its tongue at her. She was also really pale, and she had these... Unnerving eyes. Not purple, no. Violet. That was the color. She was also holding the source of the humming: A little metal contraption, with what looked like a trigger, like a crossbow, and a glass... cage? that hummed melodically and glowed blue, so that her face was lit up by it.

A twitch in her facial features assured Lux of one thing: This woman could only be who she had been looking for. She looked like someone who didn't care what the Mageseekers, if anyone, thought or tried.

"Isha the Witch?", Lux asked. A dumb question, she though, like it wasn't obvious. "My name is Luxanna Crownguard. I mean you absolutely no harm, but I need you to let me down from here!"

At the mention of the name, she seemed to twitch again. A sarcastic, half-cocked smile that didn't reach her eyes formed for a second.

"Crownguard? Ha! I did not know my humble abode warranted the presence of nobles!" She did a very exaggerated and sarcastic bow as she said this and a long braid fell from under her hood with a light thud against the forest floor. "I was convinced people were too chicken to try to come push me out... Is that why you're here?"

At that last line, her voice changed. No longer mocking, but dead serious. She was dangerously close now, the little humming device pressed up against Lux's forehead, hanging lazily from Isha's hand. She was getting nervous... Too nervous. Keep it in check, keep it in check, keep it in check...!

"Please, no, I have no desire to hurt you! That's not why I'm here! I-I just got curious! I swear, please let me down, I'm begging you! I don't want to hurt you!" She was squirming against the trap now. Isha thought she looked like a very enthusiastic fish outta water.

"You don't want to hurt me?" Isha said. The catscratch was back... Was she enjoying this? "It's cute that you think you could."

"LET ME DOWN NOW!" Lux demanded.

Too late.

Like it always did, it started with her hands. She felt the light come through like the warm summer sun. In any other situation, the sensation might have been comforting. Not like this. The feeling moved up her torso, down her legs, the glow penetrating every fiber of her being until her eyes, her hair, her entire self was a glowing, resplandecent, magical sign that said "Mage here! Come imprison me!" in big, bold letters... The Witch got half a "What the fu-" out before Lux couldn't hold on any longer

The light burst forth, blasting from her body, breaking the wires of the snare trap she found herself in, blasting Isha away and dropping Lux on the ground. She heard the scream the Witch let out and immediately started to concentrate again. Breathe, Luxanna, BREATHE! Dim down, dim down!

Until, eventually, almost as quickly as it had come, the light was gone.

She saw Isha with her hands on her eyes. Twisting on the floor, a second braid now fallen from her hood. The weirdest part was that Lux couldn't tell if the woman was in pain or if she was... Gods, was she giggling?! Lux suddenly felt REALLY uncomfortable.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I swear I didn't mean to hurt you! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Lux crawled to her and sure enough, she was giggling. Like the initial scream of pain had given way to some twisted joke she found absolutely hilarious...

Isha sat up as she slowly regained her sight, the first thing she saw were Lux's huge baby-blue eyes staring at her. She looked close to tears, the poor thing!

"Damn, Flashlight!" Isha's scratchy voice said, maybe a little too loud, between giggles. "I stand corrected! You pack a punch!"

"You're not... Hurt?"

"Oh, it stings like a BITCH!" She wheezed. "But the joke of it all is so much more entertaining... A Mage noble? In DEMACIA?! Who ever heard of THAT before?"

Every single danger warning in Lux's body went off at once. She knew now. She couldn't know! She couldn't let anyone know! This could kill her. It could kill her whole family! Her brother knew, and that was problem enough! This could-

The Witch spoke again. "Alright. I'm too curious now. Come inside, girlie, let's see what ails you." Mockingly, that last line was spoken, and lazily, like a ragdoll, the witch of the woods got up.

"You can't tell anyone! Not a SOUL can know! Please, miss Isha, I know I have no right but you must understand! If someone were to find out...!"

The Witch turned on her heel, and curved a finger towards the young Mage. Then she walked towards her ramshackle hut and opened the door...

"Trust me, Flashlight. I won't tell anyone. Besides, if YOU got made, that probably means people wouldn't leave me alone for not bringing you in, right? Come on. I don't get a lot of visitors and you're not a baby or anything, so I promise not to eat you. Mind the traps! There's like three more on the ground over there."

Lux saw the logic in it... And besides, if she ratted her out, she'd be screwed as well, right? She could afford to be welcoming. Isha held all the cards... And Lux supposed, if the absolute worst outcome happened, she could just let go and incinerate the hut and the witch with it, but she really hoped it didn't come to that.

She made her way, carefully avoiding the traps laid out in front of her, now uncovered by the blast. She wondered how Isha could hide them so well while they were painted with such vibrant colors... She made it to the door.

"Come in, come in!" Said the witch, gently tapping Lux's shoulder inside, like they were friends or something. "Tell me everything!"

Jinx had left for Demacia so no more magic could hurt her. So she could be at peace knowing no HexTech or any other insane, arcane invention could put her in danger. She'd left to be safe. She'd left to be left alone...

But now? She had that buzz between her ears again... And something told her that she was about to have a lot of fun with this one.

[kuijoon]

Sampo used to be a self-annihilator before becoming a masked fool

Note: this is a crack theory(?) (not even a theory tbh as I don’t really think it’s true and more so a different view on him)

First of all, this started with the similarities between Acheron and Sampo. Dark hair with white parts, dead snake imagery, diamond shaped pupils, leaving purple slashes in the air with their weapon, both nihility, etc. Obviously, this isn’t enough to warrant speculating about Sampo being connected to Acheron/the self-annihilators, so let me elaborate:

White hair: As we know, Acheron has a streak of white hair and completely white hair when she is in her alternative form. Self-annihilators are mentioned to “lose their color” as time goes on, which I think the white hair symbolizes. Sampo also has white hair, however it only is at the end of his hair (=he was losing his color back when he was a self-annihilator but after escaping the nihility and becoming a masked fool, it stopped- I’ll explain this idea more later on)

Snake imagery: As I think every Sampo fan is aware, he has skeletal snake imagery all over his design and it was even confirmed to be intended by hyv in the notes discussing Sampo’s beta design. Acheron possesses some of it too, albeit much less prominent: the spine thing on her back, similar belt decoration to Sampo’s, long spine painted (like that of a snake) on her sleeve, diamond eyes that could kind of resemble that of a snake (just like Sampo btw) and a spine in the background of her splash art. She even has a shoulder guard like Sampo, although it doesn’t directly resemble a snake and more so a vague bone structure (then again Sampo’s snake design elements are exclusively from snake bones). Other than Acheron, we have another known self-annihilator that features snake imagery; the one from the SU occurrence “Kindling of the Self-Annihilator”. Here, they are described as someone who’s a serpent below their waist, with dark green scales that give off a metallic glint- may be a coincidence, but for the sake of this theory I will choose to believe it’s intentional.

Besides Acheron’s and Sampo’s similarities, there are also a few more reasons to support this:

Aha saving a self-annihilator: In the Swarm disaster, Lepismat Part VI, Aha pays a self-annihilator a visit and they are described to have a “heartfelt smile on their face”, as if being rescued from the nihility’s pull due to Aha. Now, my theory would be that the same happened to Sampo- he was slowly fading away (his hair started to turn white), but then Aha showed up for whatever reason and Sampo was able to get out of IX’s shadow, becoming part of the masked fools instead when he realized the joy of life- turning from nihilism to absurdism, as the two concepts are closely intertwined anyway (hair stopped turning white).

Sampo’s in-game path is nihility: Now, if what I said before was true and Sampo stopped following the nihility, why would his in-game path being nihility support this? Well, I think don’t think that he has to completely turn away from nihility- as I already said the nihility and elation are closely connected in the belief that nothing matters, so still having sharing some beliefs would make sense to me.

Anyway that’s it for now (probably forgot something but wtv)

[nathaslosthershit]

[3] Who is Birdie Hughes?

Mat Barzal x Hughes!sister

Part of the Birdie Hughes AU

Here is the link for the Masterlist 

Summary: Why Birdie is out of the limelight and the 3 times the Hughes brothers talked about their big sister

The three Hughes brothers becoming huge hockey stars and seemingly getting those talents from their parents, was a story told over and over. 3 out of 3 Hughes boys ending up in the NHL at the same time truly showed the talent this family possessed. But there was a fourth child, the oldest and only daughter of the family, that wasn’t so much in the limelight. This was on purpose, Birdie never wanted too much attention on herself, and she thought that with three famous superstar hockey brothers, she wasn't interesting enough to warrant attention. It was shortly after Jack was drafted, and the family began to gain much more popularity, that they were all asked to be interviewed, when she sat them all down to talk.

“I don’t want to be interviewed.” She stated, firm but not unkind. “I don’t think I could handle that.”

“Well, Birdie, we will have someone there to help you out and talk you through it ahead of time.” Her dad said.

“I know that, and I know if I said anything stupid or whatever they wouldn’t include it. I just think I don’t need to add my input. They don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Sweetie, they asked you to do it because they want to know. They want to hear what you have to say as the oldest.” Her mom reasoned.

“Come on dude, you are part of the family, it would be weird if everyone but you were interviewed.” Jack argued. They didn’t understand, which wasn’t their fault. Birdie didn’t know how to articulate how she was feeling. She loved her family, she loved hockey, and she loved how her brothers were talented and had bright features ahead of them. What she didn’t love was the guilt she had always felt for quitting. She was good and she enjoyed playing, but she simply wasn’t competitive enough. She didn’t feel the need to practice day in and day out, she never stressed about whether her team was going to win because she simply enjoyed playing. After a particularly bad season had ended in high school, her coach had sat her down and berated her. Accusing her of not caring enough, of letting down her team. She vowed then and there that the only times she would be playing was for fun. She didn’t want big arenas full of fans and the best hockey equipment money could buy. She wanted the public rink and to play with her family for fun during the weekend and days they had off. 

When Birdie had finally told her family she was done, they were confused. After a bit of pushback they finally decided that if she wasn’t going to be happy, then there was no reason to make her continue. She missed it, of course, and she felt terrible for quitting, but over time she felt less and less guilty. 

She didn’t want to talk about that though, she didn’t want to explain. She also didn’t want to feel like she was less then because she chose a different life than what her brothers did.

“You can mention me, I don’t want to totally not exist from your lives publicly. I just don’t want to be interviewed right now.” She said firmly. 

Silence filled the room, till they all began to nod.

“Also, just call me Birdie. I don’t need my name out there so some crazy fan can dox me or something.” This she passed off as a joke, but they all knew she was serious at the same time. 

Ever since then, the public has known little about the mysterious first Hughes child. Comments here and there from the boys or their parents about their sister and daughter, but not much more. A childhood photo here and there, but since Luke’s draft day, there hasn’t been much of her, unless it was a hockey game she went to support her brothers at. 

Over time though, this began to change.

It started with Jack.

Out of everyone, Jack hated interviews the most. He knows it has become somewhat of a joke and over the years he just couldn’t bring himself to care about hiding his annoyance. Luckily, Jack was only doing a small sit down to talk about his family. Nothing about a game he had played where they would ask if he was sad they lost or some shit.

“Now your whole family is very close it seems. How have they impacted your career and helped you grow?”

“Uh yeah, obviously we are close and they all mean the world to me,” what the fuck is he supposed to say? “Growing up with three siblings has honestly really shaped me as a person. I owe so much to my brothers and sister. Beyond hockey even. Having three people you are sort of forced to love and grow with has been a blessing, even if they are annoying. Birdie, my sister, has had the most impact I think. She has always been kind of a, um, mentor, I guess- I don’t really know how to say it. She helped me become a better person, I don’t even want to know who I would be if I didn’t have her to somewhat keep me in check growing up. She lives not too far from me, compared to the rest of my family, so when I moved to New Jersey she helped along the way. She also did so much to help me when I was younger. Driving me to practice, driving my friends to practice too. Also school, she is the smartest person in the world, I swear. Always gave me shit for tests I would do bad on, but would always offer to help me study. And I gave her every single essay to proofread, which led to more bullying from her, but I never got too bad of a grade after she put her input in.” He was actually smiling and laughing, which is not common for Jack during an interview.

“She must be your favorite huh?” The interviewer said laughing.

“Oh she is everyone’s favorite. Although we all know Luke is her favorite. That's only because he is the youngest. She calls him ‘her baby’, which she has said since she was 6 and he was an infant.”

Luke

“So, Luke, a lot of talk from Jack about your sister. Something about you being her favorite?” The interviewer asked.

“Oh, of course I'm her favorite. Not even a question. She loves to tell me how I will always be her baby brother, despite how old I get, which is kind of annoying.” he laughs.

“Most people would find it endearing.”

“Yeah until she visits you in college and starts yapping about how you are ‘her baby’ to all your new friends. They all thought it was hilarious and I had to put up with them calling me ‘baby Hughes’ for like a month.” 

Quinn

“Tough game today, Quinn.” The reporter said, not really a question but he still waited for the captain’s response.

“Yeah. I have family here today so the loss is a little more upsetting.” He said somberly. He really hated interviews sometimes.

“Your brothers were here?”

“No, uh my sister. She surprised me last night. Didn’t know she was coming till then. She works in New York so I don’t get to see her as much as my brothers do. Something that I am jealous about.”

“Ah yes, the first Hughes child. You two being the oldest- are you guys close?”

What a weird question. But honestly, Quinn would rather talk about his sister than the game.

“Of course. It was just us for a little bit and I was more of her younger brother then, but once the other two came along we became each other’s confidant. I love it when she visits, and she is a better guest than my brothers so,” he laughs.

“You said she works in New York. Is she also involved in hockey like her siblings? Seems like a family trend so I wouldn’t be surprised.” The reporter said. 

This pissed Quinn off and he knew he had to be careful with how he answered this. Being so close, he was the first person she told when she was thinking about quitting hockey. He knew why she felt awful and he hated it. He also knew that this question would upset her, so he had to do something to make his answer one that wouldn’t hurt her even more.

“No, she actually works at a museum. She is easily the smartest out of all of us.”

“Ah so sort of a ‘black sheep of the family’, right?”

“Not whatsoever. We all love her, and since I was young she has been like the coolest person to me. It's honestly hard to explain what she does because it is much more sophisticated than me playing hockey or you asking stupid questions for a living.” Honestly, he would have dragged the interviewer more, but was soon let go because they could tell he began to have an attitude that wasn’t very good for a captain. 

“Fucking idiot” Quinn muttered after he left.

“What's wrong?” Birdie, who had waited outside for him to be done, had asked.

“Nothing, just- you are smart and talented, and everyone is so proud of you for what you do. Don’t forget that, okay?”

“Quinn, what happened?” 

“The interviewer was just stupid. I had said you were here and they asked if you were involved with hockey. When I said no they were rude about it. Then I got mad. Fuck them though. Your museum shit is much cooler.” “Cooler than being a professional hockey player that makes millions of dollars? I don’t know about that, Quinn.” She teased. She was used to it. It was worse when people who actually knew her had added their two cents in, but some random interviewer wasn’t going to upset her. She wouldn’t let it. “But thank you. I am not upset, I promise.”

“Love you, B.”

“Love you too, Q.”

[winniewritesstories]

Pilot | The (Mis)Adventures of Meg Winchester ii

Summary - the pilot but with Meg added! (She's 8)

Pairings/characters - Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Meg Winchester (OC), Jessica Moore, John Winchester (mentioned), Bobby Singer (mentioned)

Sam Winchester x little sister, Dean Winchester x little sister

Warnings - mentions of death and violence, spoilers for spn (obviously lol), that's it?

Language - English (British)

Word Count - 2,675

Notes - I'm NOT doing a series re-write but many of these will be/feature episodes, although there will be plenty that don't take place within an episode. Please let me know if you like!

Credits - @firefly-graphics for the dividers

Stanford University, 2005.

Dean stood in his brother’s apartment, face to face with him for the first time in over two years. Their not-so-happy reunion had been interrupted by Sam’s girlfriend, Jessica, whom Dean immediately decided was way out of his brother’s league (and he proceeded to hit on her).

Dean needed Sam with him on this. Dad was missing, and Dean didn’t know what to do. His only back up was a scrawny eight year old, and - much as he loved the kid - that wasn’t much help. He needed Sam.

“Dad hasn’t been home in a few days,” Dean said, choosing his words carefully in front of Sam’s civilian girlfriend.

“So he’s working overtime on the miller time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later,” Sam replied. He didn't see why this warranted Dean breaking in at midnight. Couldn't the man pick up a phone?

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but a clunk and a bang from the kitchen made both Winchester’s tense up. Then Dean sighed in resignation.

"You were supposed to wait in the car.” Dean called. Sam - who had been ready to tackle for the second time that night whomever had broken into his apartment - gave his brother a confused look. But his worry and confusion fell away when a small head of brown curls and bright green eyes poked around the kitchen door.

"I was lookin’ for Pop Tarts,” she said with a toothy grin. Her eyes moved from her eldest brother to the one she hadn’t seen in years. “Sammy!”

She'd grown, gotten taller, but she was still wiry and thin. As a baby, Meg had looked like Sam, but she was growing into a carbon copy of Dean, with his green eyes and spattering of freckles across her cheeks.

She moved at the speed of light, throwing herself into Sam's arms. He swung her off the floor so she could wrap her legs around him. She was bigger, but she was still small. She'll always be small to Sam.

Meg's arms went around her brother's neck and she held him tight for several seconds.

"I missed you!" she cried out, pulling back far enough to look at her brother.

"I missed you too, Scout," Sam replied affectionately, surprised at how easily the nickname slipped out. "You got tall."

Meg grinned, flashing a gap in her front teeth. "Almost as tall as you, I reckon." Sam chuckled. Meg then looked shyly to the girl standing by Sam, giving her a small smile.

"This is Jessica. Jess, this is Meg." Sam said softly. Jess smiled widely.

"Hi, Meg. I've heard a lot about you." Jess replied. Meg beamed. That meant Sammy had been talking about her.

"Meg." Dean said behind them, but he wasn't really mad. Not watching his two favourite people reunite. "I told you to wait in the car. How'd you even get in?"

Meg shrugged one shoulder as Sam set her down, the strap of her dungarees falling down. "Climbed the fire escape. I wanted to see Sam," she reasoned. "Plus, I'm hungry." Dean rolled his eyes fondly. The girl certainly had his appetite. She went to stand next to her oldest brother, who placed a gentle hand on her unruly curls.

"Was just explaining to Sammy why we're here," Dean said, shifting his focus back to his brother. "Dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam stiffened, his face serious. "Jess, excuse us."

____

Meg knew it was bad. They'd come to get Sam from school, so it had to be bad. The didn't bother Sam for anything, not even when Meg hurt her leg last year. Sure, Dad would take off for days, sometimes weeks at a time, but he always called. Kept Dean up to date on where he was and what he was hunting. Sometimes he'd ask after Meg. Most of the time he trusted Dean to look after her and assumed he'd call if anything was wrong. Not that John could - or would - do anything if she was sick.

Dean had already been getting worried in New Orleans when they hadn't heard from him. Then they got the voicemail, and his worry turned to dread. He'd ran the voicemail through a computer and found the EVP, a crackling female voice talking about home. They'd left for Stanford that night.

Meg knew it was bad, but she wasn't that concerned. The thing that worried her most was Dean's fear. He was trying to hide it, but she could see that underneath his smile and confidence, he was worried. For Meg, things were much the same. In fact, they were almost better. She could go months without seeing her father or hearing his voice, that wasn't new. But getting Sammy back? That was awesome.

She sat in the back of the Impala while Sam and Dean had a conversation in hushed voices about Dad and EVP and Monday. Meg didn't know what was happening on Monday, but it seemed important to Sam. She waited for them to finish talking, and looked up at Sam's apartment. She liked Jess, she decided. Meg had been raised by her brothers, her Uncle Bobby, and very occasionally her father, but she didn't know many women. Jessica was nice, and she was pretty, and Sammy seemed to really like her - maybe even love her.

The driver side door opened and Meg sat up eagerly.

"Sammy's gone to pack a bag," Dean said with a smile. Meg stuck her head out the Impala's window.

"Sammy!" she called. He turned at the door. "Bring me a Pop Tart!"

_________

"Can I sit up front with you?" Meg asked her brothers after Sam slung his duffel in the trunk. Sam didn't have any Pop Tarts in his house, but he'd brought her a brunch bar to snack on. It tasted like cardboard and disappointment.

"No, you stay back there, munchkin. Get some sleep." Dean replied. Meg pouted.

"I can't sleep! We just got Sammy back!" Meg cried. She turned her attention to Sam. "I like Jessica. Is she your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, yeah she is." Sam said, and he couldn't keep the smile of his face.

"Awww." Meg said, scrunching up her nose. "Jess and Sammy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love-"

"Alright, alright. Cut it out." Dean said, but he smirked at the blush creeping up Sam's neck to his face. "Hey, Goose, why don't you tell Sam what you've been up to since you saw him last."

"Dean, we haven't seen him in for ages! That's so much stuff! Hmm... Okay, Uncle Bobby got a new dog, his name is Rumsfeld and I love him. Last year I hurt my leg really bad and I had to get shots but even then we couldn't come see you. But it was alright 'cos Dean looked after me for a week and I didn't have to do any school work. I lost like four teeth since I last saw you as well and now I can't whistle. Umm... what else? Oh - Dean taught me how to fix the Impala and I'm really good at it. I've been riding shotgun when it's just us, but you can have that seat now. Just don't touch my music. I also grew taller and then my shoes didn't fit so we had to go shopping. That was kinda boring though. Uncle Bobby's been teaching me lots of things, too, like -"

Sam held up a hand. "Slow down, Meg. Take a breath. What happened to your leg?" The admission she'd hurt her leg had been the most concerning thing he'd heard, and she hadn't been forthcoming with any details.

"A monster got it. I had'to go hospital and get shots and stitches, but then Dean got me ice cream, and even Dad-"

"Why in the hell were anywhere near a monster? Dean, what the hell are you thinking? She's a kid, she- "

"I know she's a kid, Sam, it's not like I planned it. Dad needed help on a case and I didn't have time to take Meg to Bobby's, so she stayed in the car. There were only supposed to be three - Dad hadn't clocked the other Skinwalker until it was at the car. We handled it, Meg got patched up, everyone's fine." Dean fired back defensively, raising his voice.

"How is that fine, Dean? She could've been taken, or killed, or turned! You're supposed to be looking after her, not putting her in danger, for crying out - "

"Looking out for her? Sam, that's all I do. It was a freak accident, and you ain't gonna make me feel worse than I already do. Not to mention, you haven't even been here for years. I ain't about to get a lecture from the guy who bailed on us, on his family - "

"Enough!" Meg cried out from the back seat, eyes getting watery. "No arguing when we just got Sammy back! 'Sides, he left 'cos he and Dad argued all the time so if you keep arguing, he'll leave again." Both boys softened at her outburst.

"Meg, that isn't why I left - "

"I don't care. I didn't get that hurt, really. Plus Dad stuck around for like almost a whole week, which I think is the longest I've seen him since... ever? And Dean made me pancakes whenever I asked, and then we went to stay with Uncle Bobby while my leg got all the way better and he looked after me really, really well. It wasn't Dean's fault, it was the monster's fault. Don't shout at him."

The car lapsed into an awkward silence. Dean's guilt was still eating him up inside, even though it had been over a year since Meg got hurt. He knew it was his fault, knew he should've looked after her better, but Sam throwing it in his face didn't help. Not to mention the fact that Meg thought Sam was staying so long as they didn't argue. He'd have to sit her down and explain that Sam was probably leaving them as soon as they found Dad. But that conversation could wait.

"Do you want to see my wicked cool scar?" Meg offered, trying to ease the tension. "I look like the Terminator!" Sam smiled softly and nodded, so Meg rolled up the leg of her dungarees to show him.

"Just like the Terminator," Sam murmured, running a finger over the raised, pink scars. There were three, clearly claw marks, running up her shin. Eight years old and scarred by a monster. "You said Uncle Bobby'd been teaching you stuff. Hunting stuff?"

Meg shrugged one shoulder as she rolled the cuff back down. "Sometimes, but mostly other stuff. We've been readin' about myths and the Greeks and how the Egyptians made mummies. They pulled the brains out through their noses! We study a lot of history together, probably 'cos he was there when most of this stuff happened."

Dean snorted. "Maybe don't tell Bobby that, Goose." Meg just shrugged. "We got a few hours driving, you really should get some shut eye."

"But Dean..." Meg whined, shutting up when Dean shot her a look in the rearview mirror. She huffed, reaching for her blanket and stuffed dog toy, Patch - her best friend, really. She draped the red and black checkered blanket over her lap, leaning her head back against the seat. She was tired, but didn't want to go to sleep. She stifled a yawn.

"Sammy'll be here when you wake up," Dean said softly, as if he could read her mind. She smiled a little, closing her eyes as the thrum of the Impala's engine lulled her into sleep, as it had done her entire life.

_______

This case was different from the others they worked, Meg could tell. Their Dad wasn't in Jericho, in fact he'd packed up mid-hunt, leaving Sam and Dean tracking down something called a Woman in White. Then Dean had been arrested, Sammy drove the Impala into a house and nearly had his heart ripped out by a ghost.

Average day for a Winchester.

They were on the road again, and Meg had an awful, awful feeling they were taking Sam back to Stanford. She was in the front, squished between her brothers, her favourite place in the world. Dean's music was playing in the background, the familiar bass welcome in the otherwise silent car, Meg's head resting on Sam's shoulder.

"Do you have to go back?" she asked quietly, so quietly they almost hadn't heard her. Sam sighed softly, stroking her unruly curls away from her face.

"Yes, sweetheart, I do. I have an interview on Monday." he replied gently. Meg's lower lip quivered as she fought back tears. Both her arms were wrapped around Sam's large one, gripping the fabric of his jacket.

"Please don't leave us." She begged, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. Sam and Dean exchanged a look over her head. "Please."

"I'm sorry, Meg." Sam said, wrapping his arm around her. She buried herself in him, his scent, his Sam-ness, savouring it. "I... I have to. You'll be okay. Dean'll look after you." She knew that. That wasn't the problem.

"Everyone leaves," she mumbled into his shirt, and both boys knew she was talking about more than Sam.

"Don't worry," Dean said with more confidence than he felt. "It'll me and you again, like always. We'll find Dad together." Sam's heart twisted at Dean's words, with guilt and hurt. Was there a place for him in this family anymore? He knew Dean's words were meant to comfort Meg, that they weren't intended to hurt him. Or maybe Dean was pissed at him for going back, or for going to college in the first place, and they were meant to hurt, in which case, mission accomplished.

Sam looked down at Meg, the guilt eating at his heart. He knew what it was like. She'd grown up with the three Winchester's and a handful of other hunter's as family, the Impala as a home. Her mother had left, then Sam, and now Dad was missing too. He didn't know what to say. Couldn't offer her the comfort or reassurance she needed. So he squeezed her shoulder and pulled her in closer, savouring the feeling of her in his arms again.

_____

The smell of smoke was all around them, even though the fire had been put out. They'd hung around a while outside Sam's apartment, Meg dozing in the back seat, Dean watching the building closely. He hadn't been sure what he was even waiting for. Until he was. Until the flames erupted and he heard Sam scream.

Meg was tucked under Dean's arm where she was safest. She'd been crying, partly for Jess, even though she barely knew her, but mostly for Sammy. The small, selfish part of her that may have been glad Sam was coming with them now was muted by the empty look in his eyes, the grief on his face, the lingering tear tracks on his cheeks.

It wasn't fair, she thought crossly. Sam loved Jess. They'd seen her only three days ago. How could someone be gone so quickly?

Meg had tried to comfort Sam. But she didn't really know what to do or say. So she had stayed quiet while Dean held their brother, extending one hand to rest on Sam's knee, her own tears snaking down her face as she watched one of her heroes cry.

She knew enough about her brother's mom, her father's mission, to know Mary Winchester died similarly. That's what scared them the most. The monster was still out there, and the Winchester's weren't safe yet. Maybe they never would be.

Sam's grief began to give way to anger. His eyes hardened, body straightening, as he rifled through the Impala's trunk, surveying the weapons. His voice was sharp as he looked at Dean.

"We got work to do."

Thank you for reading!

Taglist - @podado-t-memes @ariesandwolves

(P.S. - I posted the first part to @/winchesterdefender first, then moved my writing onto this blog. If you requested to be tagged on winchesterdefender I have added you here - please message if I have missed you!)

[henrysglock]

[Lumax voice] Turn Around, Look At What You See! In Their Face...

(If you couldn't already tell: I have finally lost all my marbles.)

I'm sure this has occurred to other people by now, but if El's memories leading up to the 4.07 monologue are ripped directly from Brenner's (<- slayful Nat post, required viewing), and she runs in to see One killing Two...then doesn't it stand to reason that that is what Brenner saw when he ran into the Rainbow Room in 1979?

Now before anyone hops in to correct me: There's definitely a version of things where Brenner finds El alone in the rainbow room after the massacre. That's not in question. We all know that happened at some point.

(Regardless of the manner of death...no broken bones or gouged eyes...okay!)

However, as I'm sure we're all aware...these guys are different guys.

(This detail has been beaten into the ground but always bears repeating)

So, what is in question is what close-up Brenner saw when he ran into the Rainbow Room.

Those duplicate memories appear to belong to close-up Brenner:

i.e. not the Brenner who runs in and sees El at the start of 4.08. (This isn't to say that that Brenner doesn't have those memories or similar ones, but he's not the Brenner whose memories are being featured. Begone, thot.)

So, arguably, if El has close-up Brenner's memories...then she should be running in and seeing what he saw, no?

So what did he see? Someone just slightly shorter than him, who walked close enough to warrant a tight shot.

That POV (as has been discussed ad nauseam by many) is far too tall to be any version of El:

But it is about the right height for someone a few inches shorter than Brenner...something like:

So, tl;dr: I want to play a clip for you.

I love choreography and camera work. That's art right there.

However, that video doesn't include the subtitling that accompanies the visuals that link El finding One to Brenner finding El:

Now, it's difficult to compare anything after this point (though not impossible, can't keep a south Wisconsin boy down. I will be using them for comparisons later)...because of course that's when weird, random blood starts appearing:

Hence, the clock is visibly frozen after that point:

This smacks, to me, of the same kind of shit that happened with 004 when the kids were bullying El—Scenes that never actually happened in the real past being spliced into a tape that cuts off and then picks back up like no time had passed/nothing had been spliced in. It makes more sense if you read the post I linked, since the video in that post makes my point clearly.

< TANGENTIALLY RELATED >

The anime nerd in me is tempted to liken this whole deal ^ to JJBA/DIO's time-stopping stand "The World" in...that's right...Stardust Crusaders, wherein DIO pause time for everyone but himself, which I'm certain others have done as well.

Tbqh...I'm still here:

Specifically a reference to The World/DIO vs Star Platium/Jotaro, both of which are time-stopping stands...(Much to think about irt Jotaro/Star Platinum developing time-stopping powers later on in terms of El, sure, but also in terms of "Everything was hard for [One]...He walked in here, and it was like something had changed. He told me he had figured it out.").

[Distant screaming as I'm forcefully prevented from going on a "Stardust Spider-Stardust Crusaders-Dio Brando-Joestar Family-Dio's Bone-Green Baby-Green, Green Grass of Home" tangent in this post...and don't get me started on DIO's regen healing/vampirism from the ancient stone mask...don't get me started on King Crimson and Golden Experience Requiem either...]

Not to mention the DIO reference with One linking this scene to (you guessed it) Edward Munson:

Edward Creel proven once again, but this time it's via goddamn JJBA and Brenner fuckery. (And yes, yes, I know about DIO the band. This ain't about her. Things can have multiple meanings. It was a Choice to associate Henward with DIO and Eddie with DIO. I rest my case.)

< ANYWAY, TANGENTS ASIDE >

As I said earlier, close-up Brenner is shot at a distance baby El could never have achieved. She passes out on the far side of the room, entirely too far away to have been anywhere near close enough for a close-up of Brenner's face, height aside.

However, ignoring the blood fuckery and disappearing gate cracks:

Some-One else has enough energy left to walk towards the doors. All the way over, in fact. So while those close-up shots are 100% out of range for post-gate baby El, they're very much in-range for 3:46 PM One.

Tl;dr: It's entirely possible, if not likely (based on the choreography and camera-work in these scenes) that close-up/angry Brenner was addressing One rather than baby El.

[samkerrworshipper]

i dare you to drop the spoiler

welllll i’ll give y’all this 🙈

here’s a little sneak peek to my next fic……. sam kerr x reader

slight warning for mention of smut

———————————————————————

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

It’s the agitated and slightly angry voice of your girlfriend as she closes the front door behind her that captures your attention, you don’t remove your eyes from their focus on the tv, you knew better than to make eye contact.

“You were running late for dinner, what was I supposed to do?”

You could hear Sam stamping her shoes off, you knew she’d finally managed to toe them off when the sound of her padded feet stomping down the entrance hallway broke the noise barrier.

“Does that seriously warrant you sending me videos when I sent you a text saying I was being kept later for some media?”

No. Was the right answer, and if you weren’t in a bit of a bratty mood you would have said so, but Sam had been training everyday of the week recently, she came home tired, hungry and grumpy most nights. Not that you really minded, but it had been a week since you’d gone past the point of gentle morning kisses, and you were getting sick of it. No matter what you tried, she resisted. You tried to sneak into her morning showers, just for her to tell you that she couldn’t be late. You tried to straddle her when you were watching tv at night, just for her to tell you that she was feeling tired. You understood, it was understandable, but you also had needs, needs that your girlfriend needed to fucking take care of.

“You promised me dinner, if I get a little bit bored whilst you're running late then you can’t really blame me, there’s leftovers in the fridge.”

In situations like these there were generally two ways Sam reacted, prolonged gratification or instant gratification. She would either ignore you, until you were begging for her attention and then when you were begging for her she’d punish you, or she’d deal with you know. It typically was dependent on a few different factors, mood, hunger level, horniness level and annoyance level.

“Come here.”

Sam’s voice was flat, not a real indicator of her mood. You hesitated for a few seconds before getting up, keeping your eyes focused on the floor and not Sam.

She was standing at the kitchen counter, her keys and phone laid out miscellaneously on the quartz bench.

You tiptoed closer to her, keeping a safe enough distance but close enough that you were within arms reach if she took a step forward.

“Look at me, pet.”

That was new, not unwanted but new, pet names were a norm but the one ‘pet’ was completely new.

“Y/n eyes on me.”

The use of your full name was enough to pull your eyes from Sam’s socks, slowly trailing up her Chelsea sweatpants and matching long sleeve top, raking up her body until you met her eyes. They were set, slightly darkened, her jaw was locked but there wasn’t any obvious anger in her facial features.

“I told you I was going to miss dinner, at 12 o’clock when Chelsea told me I was going to have to stay late for Media, it wasn’t my fault. Can you remind me what the rule is about you touching yourself and orgasming without my permission?”

[yossipossi]

I've read 8980 three times for the drawings and a deep dive. I still have these questions about the article.

1: The Clearance Levels appear to be different from what Articles and Tales I read on site. I'm curious if there's a hierarchy for Clearance Levels and what the system looks like.

2: This can be excused by there being no canon, but I questioned if it was intentional. In the Site-17 Deepwell, Allan Weathers got promoted from Site-17's Director to O5-4, then Thomas Graham took Weather's former position. In the reviewer annotation, Weathers is a Senior Researcher and Graham's Site Director.

3: At Addendum 10: Neutralization. The interview between McPharrell and Marely, it implies that McPharrell only just noticed the "several alarming features" Lillian possessed. This can include not just demeanor but her appearance. Also, Prior to Byrnes retiring, McPharrell (and Steele) were in violation of gross negligence, so that can tie together.

Including "Testing 8980-C-36", it can be used as a containment procedure. In that case, whether Byrnes did this on purpose for indirect contact with Lillian or not is in question for me.

4: When describing Lillian's mental state at the end, my brain can't decipher what her overall behavior would be like, so I was wondering if I could have a rationale of it.

I know I'll still be asking questions regarding your articles and for other stuff. 8980 was a very interesting article to dive into. The 8980 drawings are at a halt from my art project being due, but I should be back at it in around 3 days.

Sorry for the late reply! I forgot my inbox had messages haha.

1: I think it's more realistic for the Foundation to mete out specific clearances for specific things rather than just use a 1-5 scale for everyone and everything. The EthComm and RAISA would definitely have their own clearance hierarchy too, which I've seen reflected in some other articles.

2: Honestly unsure. I used Weathers because I needed a name and I asked Nagiros if it made sense to use him in this context at this time. Ve said yes.

3: Not *entirely* sure what you're asking here 😅

4: Well, she's definitely a mentally fatigued and abused person. She had difficulties forming and maintaining interpersonal relationships because her social interactions for ten years were mostly just Byrnes and occasionally someone else who were always clinically detached.

Her technophobia not only stems from Byrnes's technology-oriented abuse of her, but also from that fact that — as mentioned at some point earlier on —NETLOG got depreciated and was replaced by Framerail, so she has to relearn everything she was doing before and it's just too overwhelmed, especially combined with an intrinsic fear of failure coupled with fear of punishment.

The other psychological symptoms mentioned in the article are mixtures of coping mechanisms and neuroticism from being confined in a cell for a decade.

I'm glad the article was captivating enough to warrant three (wow!) rereads and a deepdive from you. I hope I could provide satisfactory answers!

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E6

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 6th | behind the scenes | the daring interviewer, zena daren, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and advertise krayt house’s first full-length pornographic series. the new frontier of breaking through this industry’s stigma is a challenge she’s up to face. joined by any member of the cast that’ll lend their mouth to the microphone, zena wants to know the answers to questions the people are too afraid to ask. WC: 0.5k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker, zena daren (oc) WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: episode 2 | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“So, this is your first shot at a series, right?” Zena makes conversation, beginning with something light as she coolly crosses one leg over another in her pencil skirt.

Anakin, who sits across from her in casual attire, gently signals a single nod of his head with a long blink. It’s not the first time she’s encountered the legendary Anakin Skywalker, but his body language never ceases to surprise her. From way he acts on camera, and his well-endowed features, his posture here is remarkably flaccid.

She flips the pen in her hand, gripping the edge of her clipboard as she adjusts in her seat, engaging with him. “What made you take the job?”

He flashes a downturn of his lips, scratching the side of his nose. “Money. Needed a job.”

Zena raises her brows, his crude sense of humor— if it is humor— landing on her enough to curl the corners of her mouth. “This series is practically built around you, I’d imagine the kind of person to warrant that attention would be well-off, don’t you?”

“If that’s what you think.” he shrugs.

“You wanna know what I think?” Zena goads.

His expression shifts mild encouragement, gesturing with his hand to go on.

Zena pushes up her glasses by pinching the frames, eyeing him down through her brows. “You care more than you let on. Your platform is built, Mr. Skywalker, but your co-stars are relatively new to the scene. You’re using this and your name to give them publicity.”

He takes his time in moistening his lips, leaning back in his chair to hook the crook of his elbow over the back of it. Those famous, storming eyes bore into hers, yet neither she nor he wavers. He repeats himself, “If that’s what you think.”

Clearly, it’s a dead-end. He’s not one to crack, and she’s not sure which is the fake. His porn-star persona, or the uncaring personality who sits before her now. She chews the corner of his mouth, and moves on. She’ll get him to open up in other ways. “You know me, I have to be candid.” she warns as she relaxes into her seat.

“I prefer it.”

“This last week of episodes, which was your favorite to film?”

“I liked the girls in the shower.” he replies, his nonchalance towards subject matter most would find distasteful is appreciated. He won’t beat around the bush. His intense gaze holds her as he relays those words, and she sees why his co-stars often describe him as “intoxicating.” There’s a sensuality she can’t describe to his features, and his eyes draw her in. “I like when the attention’s on me.” Does he really?

“There was a lot of passion during foodplay.”

“Are you talking about how I ate cake from her mouth?” The way he says it betrays the fact he’s not ashamed, but he’s heard enough about that detail.

A smile tugs its way onto Zena’s features. “That’s the one.”

“What can I say?” he sighs, crossing his arms. Thick tendons folded together in a most pleasing manner. He’s got a beautiful body, and he seems proud of it. “The scene runs away with me sometimes.”

[olderthannetfic]

While we're on the topic of Mainstream Publishing Discourse...

There's a lot of discussion about how a lot of sci-fi/fantasy written by women and especially WOC that is not YA gets miscategorized as YA on Goodreads and other sites like that. And sure, sometimes it's unfair and just misogynistic/racist. Like, no one should be calling NK Jemisin's writing "YA."

But sometimes you get writers who will make that argument about where you're like.... okay, the reason people keep thinking you're YA is because of actual features of your writing that are similar to YA. Like if R.F. Kuang (she's the one I feel like gets complained about the most lately and I recently read Poppy War and Babel and agree with the complaints) wants to stop being seen as YA, she could maybe learn to have enough faith in her readers to not feel like she has to mention the moral of the story - that is already obvious from every other feature of the story - explicitly spelled out like 50x. She also seems to assume that her reader will disagree with her unless she does that, which is a strange thing to conclude about "colonialism bad" which I don't think anyone who is picking up Babel and reading the description on it is going to go in thinking the opposite of! And that is what makes it feel like YA: because so much YA is designed as intros to "serious issues" for teens that writers assume don't pick up on that stuff without explicitly being told (which I think is a bit insulting to teens, but whatever, it is the genre convention and it is why by 15 I was already reading books for grown-ups in both my free time and my classes). You don't NEED to do that and if you didn't, way fewer people would think your books are YA!

Or like Erin Morgenstern, you'll be seen as YA less if you were able to construct a coherent plot and characterization and didn't instead seem to be going entirely on aesthetics and vibes. Or like Casey McQuiston, whose books absolutely do read like YA books that just have more explicit, fanficcy sex scenes in it. You cannot be shocked people think of Red White and Royal Blue that way when it has such a YA-tastic romance premise that there have been multiple actual YA books since that were blatant rip-offs of it.

I also saw a post about how a lot of these books seem to be set in things like "magical boarding school" or focus on teen protagonists and like, yeah, I feel like in general if your books keep focusing on teenagers in a very similar to way books written FOR teenagers, you can't be shocked that people keep thinking they're YA. Of course there are books about teens that are for adults, but they are usually approached in a very different way with different plots.

Anyway, I do wish people would stop assuming that books that are clearly not YA "are YA" because they are sci-fi/fantasy written by women, because it just makes it that much harder to talk about the ones that really do feel like YA in ways where the authors should probably take that criticism to heart a little bit more. Someone like Kuang clearly does want to be writing for a more adult-litfic-style audience, and should probably listen to the people telling her that her books are too didactic in a way that feels insulting to people who aren't BookTok YA readers.

I tried to bring that up to my book club though when we read Poppy War and one person wouldn't stop shouting me down about how it's "just sexism and racism." And I had to keep shouting back, dude, yeah, I know that's what the discourse is. I know that's why writers like this can brush that off. I'm saying though that in this case, I think some of it's warranted based on how *the book is actually written*

--

[itsjuststardust]

Heaven in Hiding - Chapter 21: The Dance

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Chapter Summary: She’d gathered up all of that old, bitter Alaina from before. The person she was before Mando brought her to their moon, and she saw her serpent again. Like her serpent, she shed her skin and became someone new.

Word Count: 18,405

Author's note/Chapter Warning: Just shy of 18.5k words, this chapter is officially the longest chapter in the story 😅 I've spent the last week reading and editing this until I can't see straight. So, apologies if there are more mistakes than usual. Chapter warnings are angst and canon-typical violence (because why wouldn't there be at a dance? 🤪) I can't believe I've been posting this story for NINE months. As always, your likes, reblogs, and comments are so appreciated. Enjoy, and happy reading... 😈 🎵Chapter Soundtrack🎵 ‘Hymn to Virgil’ - Hozier MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY

Chapter 21: The Dance

The cold mountain air was bitter and sharp, the perfect distraction after this very long, very confusing day.

The balcony off their bedroom faced the ocean, giving their room an exquisite ocean view. Even from the top of the mountain, she could hear the ocean’s waves crash below them. The orange moon hung low in the sky, providing enough illumination at night that Alaina didn’t feel she needed to turn the balcony lights on.

“He did tell you about us, didn’t he?”

Alaina pursed her lips and tried to blink the tears out of her eyes. Mando had mentioned that he knew a King, but he hadn’t mentioned that King was in a relationship with someone he had also had a relationship with once. That felt like something that at least warranted a footnote before they all sat down for dinner together. Not only that, but then he had to embarrass her in front of his former… whatever you wanted to call her when he argued about whether or not Alaina was capable of being another set of eyes at the dance tomorrow. By the time they’d returned to their bedroom suite for the evening, Alaina’s head was spinning. Between her head, the thin mountain air, and their dinner with the King and Shadow Queen, Alaina suddenly found the massive chamber rather stifling and excused herself to the balcony. 

The crisp air had initially helped clear her mind, but it wasn’t long before she lost control of her downward-spiraling thoughts, and chaos erupted.

She wasn’t naive enough to think Mando hadn’t ever had other relationships. He’d admitted as much back on Sorgan, but coming face to face with one of those with whom he’d… shared a bed—especially one who was so beautiful, was not an outcome Alaina had anticipated.

As far as Alaina could tell, Iris Haze was the complete package. Beautiful. The King’s Chief of Security. The Shadow Queen.

The sad part was that Alaina could actually picture them together. Din deserved someone like Iris. That was the kind of person Din wanted. He wanted someone put together, poised, quaffed, and able to handle herself. Not her. Not the broken girl with eyes too big for her features and a head of unruly hair. Alaina was a burden—someone he had to care for—a hindrance. He didn’t even think she could be another set of eyes while dancing… Not to mention, Alaina thought she would become a vegetable only the day before, which wasn’t exactly earning her any points in the pointless contest she’d derived between herself and the other woman.

The door opened behind her, and Alaina closed her eyes. She took a deep breath through her nose, letting the crisp mountain air fill her lungs. She knew he wouldn’t let her sulk out here forever, but she was not ready to have this conversation with Mando yet.

Mando’s boots walked cautiously up beside her, and she let out her breath and opened her eyes, keeping them directed at the ocean. She watched him rest his arms against the railing out of her periphery, mimicking her position. “You’re going to freeze out here,” he started quietly.

“I’m fine,” she replied sadly. 

Mando sighed, “I can explain—”

Alaina shook her head, “Not now, Mando.”

She watched his helmet turn to look at her when she used his pseudo. “Alaina—”

“You said I couldn’t use your name outside the Crest,” she reminded him. “We’re outside of the Crest, Mando.”

Mando let out another sigh, slightly more irritated than the one before. “I tried to find the right time to tell you about… her—”

“Mando,” Alaina sighed, cutting him off. She wasn’t ready for this conversation, but it couldn’t be avoided forever. She turned to look at Mando, analyzing how the orange moon’s light shone off its curves. This could go one of two ways. She could throw a tantrum (which she really wanted to do), making the rest of their stay here even more awkward than it was tonight. She closed her eyes and inhaled the cold mountain air, letting it burn her lungs as she remembered kissing Mando that night in the rain for the first time… Or… she could let it go. Prove to Mando that she wasn’t as naïve as she appeared. Prove to him that she was capable of being an asset. Prove she was capable of being his partner. “It’s… it’s okay,” she finished, letting out her breath and giving him a strained, tired smile.

He cocked his head at that, looking as if he didn’t quite believe her. “It never meant anything,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist.

Alaina closed her eyes and took another deep, calming breath. Part of her wanted to fly off the handle and berate Din for bringing her someplace where she would have to meet someone he’d been with, but she couldn’t, not after everything he had done for her. The situation was uncomfortable, but if uncomfortable was the worst thing that happened here, then Alaina Corra would consider it a blessing.

“I believe you,” she finally told him with a nod.

“You—” Mando began and then stopped, tugging her wrist to pull her closer, looking like he was studying her face from behind his helmet. “You do?” he asked, sounding like he didn’t believe her or was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What do you want me to say, Mando?” she asked with a shrug. “You told me back on Sorgan that you’d shared beds with others. I wasn’t expecting to meet one with whom you’d shared said bed... or an alley wall,” she grumbled, feeling the jealousy rise again. “But… I trust you,” she continued, grabbing his other hand to hold his wrist where she knew his bracelet was hiding under his glove. “You wouldn’t have brought us here if you didn’t trust them. And while I think that the situation is weird—”

“It is,” he cut in. “Actually, Iris and Rhoam would take weird as a compliment.” Alaina smirked at that and let Din pull her in to wrap his arms around her. “I wanted to tell you, but you were too out of it for most of the trip here. And when you weren’t, you looked too exhausted, and I didn’t think it was the right time. Then we got here, and it was too late.”

Alaina nodded, “Just—Why me?” she whispered.

Mando pulled her away from his chest, and his helmet pulled back in surprise at her question, and he asked, “Why you?”

Alaina sighed and shook her head. “I—I just—Nevermind,” she breathed, shaking her head.

“Don’t shut down on me now,” Din said, gripping her shoulders. “I can feel you, remember? I know you’ve felt off since dinner. Talk to me,” he finished in a quiet, reassuring voice.

Alaina let her eyes drift down to look at the stone balcony they were standing on while she tried to gather her thoughts. “I’m not her, Mando,” she finally settled on.

“You’re not who? Iris?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused. Alaina had to glare at him when she heard the chuff of a laugh escape from under his helmet. “Alaina, I’m very much aware that you’re not her. In fact, I find it one of your better attributes,” he tried to clarify, and Alaina’s glare intensified when she detected what sounded like him teasing her. “Seriously,” he nodded. “She scares me,” he finished in a whisper as if he was afraid Iris would magically appear on the balcony with them.

Alaina rolled her eyes. “Stop that,” she glowered.

Mando’s helmet cocked, “Stop what?”

She thrust a finger at his helmet and pursed her lips, “You’re trying to be cute, so I’ll forget why I was frustrated with you in the first place.”

Mando took a step closer and grabbed the arm in front of his helmet to pull her closer to him so he could try to warm her up by rubbing his gloves up and down her arms. “Is it working?” he asked, tilting his helmet.

Alaina smirked. She stepped into his space and smiled when he wrapped his arms around her. “Maybe,” she pouted, smiling when his arms tugged her closer to him. “Here I was worried about you causing a scene with Rhoam—”

“If he kisses your hand again, I’m going to snap his wrist,” Mando growled.

She lifted her head to stare up at his helmet as if to prove her point but then felt her face shift to a smile. “As I was saying. I was worried about you causing a scene with Rhoam because you were already jealous, and I hadn’t even met him yet. And then I turned into the jealous… whatever you want to call me the second I realized who Iris was to you. I’ve been angry about relationships before, but I’ve never felt jealous like that… I don’t like it.”

“Iris and Rhoam are… Iris and Rhoam. They’ve been like that since I met them. Iris isn’t anything to me. And you’re right, you’re not her,” he said, turning serious. Alaina tried to duck her eyes, but his glove came up, so his fingertips forced her head to look back up at him. “You’re you.”

Alaina gave him another strained smile, wanting to believe his words but was finding it difficult.

“I’m not good with words,” Mando admitted, and Alaina scoffed at him. “How can I prove to you that it’s you I want?”

Alaina softened at his question. He’d done nothing but prove himself to her. “I think you proved yourself as we were dropping out of hyperdrive,” she said, looking up at him with her best seductive smile. Mando chuckled, and her smile broadened. 

They’d only been here a handful of hours, and she’d missed the easy camaraderie they’d developed on the moon. This wasn’t remotely close to the relationships she’d had in her teens… This was the kind of relationship she’d dreamed about. Well, she hadn't dreamed about being with a Mandalorian exactly, but now that Din was in her life, she couldn’t imagine it any other way. She’d lost a chunk of her adulthood to Penn Pershing… she didn’t want to lose more of it because of her. 

She’d gathered up all of that old, bitter Alaina from before. The person she was before Mando brought her to their moon, and she saw her serpent again. Like her serpent, she shed her skin and became someone new. 

Her smile turned to a smirk, and Mando cocked his head at her, silently asking what she found funny. “Did they really ask you to be their third?” she asked, unable to stop her smile from overtaking her face, imagining how awkward Mando would have been in that situation.

“Yes,” he groaned, shaking his head like he was trying to shake that memory from his mind. “I gave them a lift back to Dietes after I caught my quarry. Rhoam had his mechanics do minor repairs to the Crest as payment for returning them home. They all but cornered me in the hall with their proposition. Because the mechanics had the engine taken apart, I couldn’t leave, but I stayed on the Crest for the duration of my stay here.”

Alaina laughed, imagining Mando hiding away on his ship instead of staying in a karking castle.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, pinning her arms between their bodies to warm them. When Mando rubbed his hands up and down her back, she took that as her sign to continue. “During dinner after Iris announced that the two of you had… yeah. Well, after that, I wished that you would have taken us to the gang of convicts instead, just so I wouldn’t have to be around one of your girlfriends,” she admitted, hating how surprisingly jealous she became.

Mando’s hands stilled on her back, and as the seconds ticked on, Alaina frowned in confusion until the light turned on in her brain, and she shoved herself away from Mando’s chest to glare at him. He was really testing her patience tonight.

“Seriously? You were with one of the convicts?! The ones you said probably would have tossed you out the airlock?” When Mando could only sigh in response, Alaina rolled her eyes and turned from him to head back inside to escape the cold.

Thieves turned royal guards turned Shadow Queens. Convicts. Ballerinas… There was a common denominator there, but it wasn’t Alaina, and if she didn’t stop trying to figure out why Din was with her when she didn’t fit the obvious mold, she was going to drive herself crazy.

“Alaina, wait,” Mando sighed, following her into the massive room they had been given while they stayed on Dietes.

“It’s fine, Mando,” she sighed as they reentered the bedroom. “Is there anyone else you need to fess up to while we’re at it? A senator, maybe? Or a Hutt?” she teased.

“A Hutt?” he laughed.

Alaina shrugged, poking her tongue out at him. Din tried to grab for her, but she spun away from him in a clumsy pirouette. “For all I know, you’ve got a girlfriend in every sector of the galaxy,” she accused sarcastically. 

“The only one I care about is here in this room with me,” came his smooth reply.

Alaina rolled her eyes, “Charming. I’m going to go take a bath,” she chuckled, unable to hide her smile from Mando as she turned toward the privy to take advantage of one of the enormous tubs. A knock on the door made them both pause, and Alaina looked questioningly up at Mando. “Were you expecting anyone?” she asked, and he shook his head.

Mando motioned for her to stay behind while he went to see who had come to visit them. When he opened the door, the same older woman who had escorted them to dinner stepped in, rolling a cart with a tray of food and a bottle of wine on it.

“Lady Haze said you needed to eat your meal in private,” the older woman said, bowing her head at Din. “We will make sure that you receive the appropriate accommodations in the future.”

“Um, thanks,” Mando said as the woman left, shutting the door behind her. He turned to look back at her, and Alaina wasn’t sure if he was surprised or uncomfortable by the gesture.

She just raised an eyebrow. “Well, at least one of your girlfriends made sure you got fed,” she deadpanned and grabbed her bag of belongings from the bed before she headed to take her bath. The heavy sigh that Mando let out only made her smirk.

Try as she might to take the high road, she'd be damned if she didn't give Din a hard time while she walked it.

As she walked through the changing area, she paused at the crib the staff had brought their tiny guest. She tiptoed to the ornate wooden crib and smiled at Grogu sleeping soundly in the soft bedding and blankets. The sight of the sleeping toddler grounded her. She could never stay mad whenever she looked at him. Leaning over the edge of the crib, she kissed the kid’s head softly, whispering sweet dreams before she turned away from him and walked into the privy, slowly closing the door behind her, not wanting to disturb Grogu’s sleep with the sound of water running.

The privy was well stocked with just about anything you could have thought. There were the usual toiletries one would expect to find in a hotel or inn, but this was a castle. Aside from the normal, there were also the softest towels she’d ever felt, along with various soaps, oils, and salts for the bath. There were even silk robes, slippers, hair pins, and clips that Alaina took advantage of to pin her hair up on top of her head because she was not ready to go through the hassle of rewashing it yet.

Soon, Alaina had one of the massive marble tubs filled with hot water and a combination of salts to help with her sore muscles, which still ached after her body protested after she floated the stone back on their moon. She even added a little sweet-smelling soap to add some bubbles to her bath because why not?

Now, Alaina allowed herself to lean back against the tub's wall, her entire body submerged in the water (save everything above her chin to keep her hair dry). She closed her eyes and let the hot water and bubbles soak away the headache she felt brewing along with her earlier foul mood.

She felt a little childish now, but that’s exactly how coming face to face with one of Mando’s one-night stands or whatever you wanted to call Iris made her feel. Childish. It only reinforced the fact that she was naïve and inexperienced, and Mando was... not. 

Those thoughts led to other, darker thoughts. Like the thought that Mando was only settling for her because of their bond… because out of all of the options he had at his fingertips in the entire galaxy, why else would Din pick her?

But then she remembered back on their last few weeks together. How close they’d grown before they had gotten trapped in her mind. Mando’s passionate kiss in the rain… Maker, she could melt away at the memory of that kiss under the lightning… That wasn’t the kiss of someone who was settling. That kiss held untold hopes and whispered promises. They’d kissed since. They’d done more than kiss since, but nothing had matched quite that kiss in the rain.

The soft clink of glass echoed quietly around the small privy, and Alaina’s eyes snapped open at the sound. 

She jolted at the sight of Mando sitting on the ledge of the tub, dressed in his full armor. “Kriff!” she exclaimed, nervously waving some extra bubbles to ensure she was covered under the suds. “That’s it, I’m getting you a bell.”

“You took it off,” he started, holding her anklet that she’d left on the edge of the tub, and Alaina was surprised not only to hear but feel his hurt through the invisible string that connected them now.

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” she answered quickly, but Mando stared at the handmade piece of jewelry instead of answering her. “I just didn’t want it to dissolve if I decided to spend all night in here,” giving him a soft smile.

Mando’s helmet tipped up from her anklet at her explanation. “You’ll dissolve if you stay in there all night,” he countered, but at least he sounded more at ease. He placed her anklet across his thigh and reached to grab something off the floor. Alaina smiled when he brought a stemmed glass and bottle of wine to pour her a glass.

“You’re not exactly making me want to get out of here, ya know?” she commented, smirking over the lip of her wine glass.

Mando shrugged. “Consider it a peace offering,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Mando,” Alaina sighed. “No peace offering is necessary,” she told him, looking him straight in his helmet. “I won’t lie and tell you I’m not weirded out, but that’s a me problem. If you say that whatever happened between you and Iris meant nothing, then I believe you. Really. Iris at least thought of having dinner sent to you so you could eat,” she reminded him, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Go eat. I’m fine.”

Mando hummed. “I was going to come to join you,” he admitted, his voice low but still sheepish as if he was embarrassed to admit that. “Then I saw how relaxed you look. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look like that when you’re awake. Especially after you used your powers back on the moon. You haven’t looked well since. You’ve got bags under your eyes, and you’re even more pale than normal, which is saying something.”

“Gee, you really know how to make a girl feel pretty,” Alaina snarked.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “You looked peaceful.”

“You wanna know what I was thinking about?” Alaina asked, placing her glass on the lip of the tub. When his helmet tilted to look back at her, she said, “Our first kiss. In the rain,” she finished, giving Mando her best apologetic smile. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” he sighed, shaking his head. 

“No, please,” Alaina stopped him, placing a hand on his thigh. “I haven’t had any kind of relationship since my mother died,” she began and then paused to gather her thoughts before continuing. “And even then, I was a teenager. I never had anything real. I never had anything that lasted. And I may be clueless about some things… but Din, I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. I want this. I want this with you.”

Mando’s gloved hand covered hers, resting over his thigh. “At least you’ve been in a relationship that lasted longer than a night or two,” he countered, and Alaina could hear the nerves in his voice. “I’ve never had—I’ve never wanted something like this with anyone before you.”

She nodded in understanding and scooted closer to where Mando was sitting. She stood on her knees so she could almost be on the same level as him without altogether leaving the warmth of the water and tried not to focus that she was naked and exposed in front of him. Alaina grabbed his helmet between her hands and leaned to kiss its center tenderly. She smiled into the kiss when she felt him relax and push his helmet into her lips. Reluctantly, Alaina pulled away from his helmet, but her hands continued to hold the beskar helm between them.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, nodding her head. “Neither of us knows what we’re doing,” she continued, stopping as she struggled to find the right words. “I spent five years being a lab rat instead of getting to be a normal girl. You’ve never had a relationship. We’re just two clueless people trying to figure it out. Just know that if I have to be clueless, I’m glad I get to be clueless with you.”

She relaxed when she felt a warm glow through their connection, as if Mando had applied a calming balm directly to her soul. 

Mando chuffed and rested his forehead against hers. There were more words to say, but they were best left for another day that hadn’t been filled with jealousy and awkward tension. Maybe after they left, Dietes and Alaina could find the proper words to tell Mando how she felt. To tell him he was forgiven.

“Can I ask a question?” she whispered, nervous but needing to know. When Din nodded his helmet, she pursed her lips, afraid of the answer she would get. “The others… I mean—Have you ever kissed anyone else?”

“No,” came his immediate reply. “Only you,” he whispered.

Alaina smiled and nodded into his helmet. His answer brought a surprising amount of relief. The fact that he’d never kissed anyone else made her feel special. He’d had others, but he’d only kissed her.

“Good,” Alaina began, pausing to give him a teasing smile. “Now, what was that about you joining me?” she asked, blinking her eyes pleadingly. “Because I think I need to prove myself if I’m the only one you’ve ever kissed.”

His laughter bubbled up, rumbling his chest as he pressed his forehead into hers one last time before he pulled away. “Enjoy your bath, Tranyc.”

“Are you turning me down?” Alaina pouted, sinking further into the tub.

Mando shook his head and knelt beside the edge of the tub. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, motioning for her to come closer with a single finger.

Alaina scooted over to where Mando was kneeling on the other side of the tub, smiling at Din as she closed her eyes and folded her arms over the edge.

When she felt his bare hand hold her chin, she felt a beat of anticipation, and her heart pounded inside her chest. Finally, his lips met hers, and Alaina thought her heart might burst right there. It was a sweet, simple, chaste kiss that made her heart sing and her head swim. It was the new way she wanted to end every day.

“You have nothing to prove, Tranyc,” Mando murmured into her lips. “There have been others, but there is only one you,” he continued before leaning in for another quick kiss. “You are sunlight, Alaina. There is no comparison.”

Alaina’s hands shot up to grab his head between her hands and pull him in, deepening the kiss. When she felt Din smile against her lips, she was tempted to pull him into the tub with her until he pulled away. She kept her eyes closed until she got the all-clear, perfectly content to smile like an idiot in the tub by herself in the meantime.

“Don’t dissolve,” he said. The familiar, modulated voice returned, and Alaina opened her eyes.

“I’ll try,” she smiled up at the silver helm. 

Mando nodded and turned to leave her alone in the tub, but a thought that had been lurking in her mind for some time came forward again. Still feeling on cloud nine between his kiss and his words, Alaina decided to go ahead and ask it.

“Can I ask another question?” she asked. 

Mando paused a few steps away and turned back, tilting his helmet at her and giving her the silent go-ahead. 

“What are the rules about your clan being able to see your face?” He stared back at her, his helmet giving nothing away, and Alaina shrugged, grabbing her wine glass for a sip. “You said only your clan could know your name, but is that it? No one ever gets to know what you look like ever again?”

His helmet tilted adorably further to his shoulder before he asked, “Why?”

Alaina smiled, “Just curious. Even more curious what the man under all that looks like,” she admitted, scrunching her nose nervously. “But I’m okay if I won’t ever get to learn what you look like.”

“You are?” he asked slowly, sounding skeptical of her admission.

“Of course,” Alaina answered quickly. Din’s helmet stared blankly at her, and she gave him her best reassuring smile. “Knowing what you look like won’t change who you are under there. You’ll still be Din Djarin. That’s all I need.”

Din’s helmet stayed locked on her, but Alaina could feel their connection flare to life. She knew he appreciated her words, even if he couldn’t find the words to say so.

“The Way of the Mandalore states that I am not to remove my helmet for anyone,” Din began slowly. “It states that if I remove my helmet in front of another living being—that if another was to see my face—then I am no longer permitted to wear it. I’ll no longer be considered a Mandalorian.”

Alaina nodded along, appreciating that he was sharing a bit of his religion with her until the weight of what he said hit her full force, and she froze in the tub. “But… Wait—Din, you’ve taken your helmet off in front of me!” she told him, panic rising in her chest. No. No, he wasn’t telling her—

“Tranyc,” he murmured, and Alaina’s wide eyes shot to his helmet. “You’ve never seen my face,” he whispered.

“But you’ve taken your helmet off in front of me! And—And I saw you when you were a boy in your memory!” she reminded him. Her heart clenched, remembering the dark brown eyes and dark brown hair of a young Din Djarin in his mother’s arms.

“Which was before I took the Creed,” he informed her. Alaina continued to stare at him with a sinking feeling in her gut. She couldn’t understand how Din was staying so calm right now. “Yes, I have removed my helmet, but I don’t feel I’ve broken the Creed because you’ve never seen my face. The dark, the blindfolds, and you closing your eyes… are loopholes. It’s a delicate situation,” he admitted. “But you’ve never seen my face,” he finished and then tilted his helmet as if another thought occurred to him. “Since I’ve taken the Creed,” he added on.

Alaina studied him in the dimly lit room, trying to wrap her mind around this new information. “And you’re… you’re okay with that?” she asked him, dreading his answer.

Din’s chest expanded as he drew a deep breath before saying, “You’re the sorceress with the magic powers. Can’t you sense what I feel?”

She focused her gaze on his helmet, searching for the answer to her question. The familiar, calm green waters filled her mind. They were warm and relaxed, filling her with a sense of peace in his decision. But there was something else there—something new. Mando was still filled with his seas of green, but now a braided gold cord was wrapped around him, glowing strong and bright.

“You’re sure?” she repeated, needing to hear him say the words.

“Yes,” came his steadfast answer. “For you, I am sure. I’ve never removed my helmet for anyone before you, Alaina Corra,” Din continued, nodding his helmet at her. “I’m at peace with that.”

Tears welled in Alaina’s eyes, and she nodded back at him. What could you say to that?

Din returned her nod with one of his own. “Don’t dissolve,” he reminded her quietly and turned to leave her to her bath.

Alaina turned her head to face forward while she attempted to process everything Din had revealed to her. Everything he said and everything he didn’t say… Her head started to throb, and she wasn’t sure if it was due to her briefly using her powers to read Din, from the stress of the day, or from the heat of the water she’d been in, but Alaina attempted to close her eyes and find that feeling of peace she’d felt before Din had disturbed her.

“Marriage,” his deep rumbling voice returned, startling her.

Alaina’s eyes snapped open, but she didn’t dare move to turn and look back at him as she tried to figure out if she thought she had heard him correctly. “I’m sorry?” she whispered, her heart pounding against its confines.

“To answer your original question,” he answered, his voice soft and steady. “My spouse can see my face.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Alaina could say to that.

Marriage. 

That was… That was…

She used to dream of being married. Of having a husband. Of being in love.

She used to believe in fairytales.

And then her best friend, someone who she loved once, had the paperwork done behind her back that made them married. There was no fairytale love story. There was no love. There was only Penn’s obsession with her. He then proceeded to experiment on her for five years. He experimented on her for five years and not only took away her original powers but took away her ability to love along with it. Penn Pershing turned her into a hollow shell—a shadow of who she used to be.

He turned her into someone who didn’t know how to love.

Love was an almost forgotten concept.

A concept she wasn’t sure she fully understood anymore.

Love was a fairytale, and Alaina Corra feared she had outgrown fairytales.

Alaina bit down on her bottom lip as tears spilled over her cheeks. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed in there contemplating Din’s revelation, but when she realized she was shivering, Alaina decided it was time to leave the tepid bath waters.

She dried herself off and redressed in one of the black silk robes available and nothing else (thanks to Din ripping her last pair of underwear). She went through her normal bedtime routine, staring at the hallow, green eyes that reflected back at her as she combed and braided her hair to prevent it from becoming a tangled mess while she slept. Mando’s earlier comment about dark circles was an understatement. There weren’t dark circles under them, either. There were smudges—dark smudges that stood out painfully on a sallow, pale face.

Maybe finding her powers again took more of her than she realized. When she started having visions, she remembered being exhausted initially. Perhaps learning to use them again was like working out and working through the soreness. Only her brain was the muscle in question, which was out of shape. Maybe if she exercised it more, it would slowly get easier.

Was it worth it?

Alaina blinked at her reflection. Hell, even Din commented on her exhausted look. It hadn’t even registered with her back on the Crest. It’s what she looked like for five years when she was in the Empire’s custody. She hadn’t even noticed the changes to her own body over the last few months. She’d regained some of her muscle mass by working out with Din and eating on a regular basis. Her body had filled in the gaunt, bony angles with muscles and curves. Even her breasts had filled out slightly. She’d never been voluptuous by any means, but it was strange staring back at herself and seeing someone with (some) curves after five years of looking like a ghost. She was still no Iris…

“There’s no comparison.”

Alaina frowned at Din’s words as she tied off her braid and tossed it over her shoulder. She was exhausted, and staring back at her reflection only amplified that exhaustion. It wouldn’t do her any good to continue dwelling on matters. Hopefully, with a good night’s rest, she would avoid the headache she could feel brewing and wake up in a better headspace tomorrow.

With a tired sigh, she returned her anklet to its place on her right leg and shuffled out of the privy, wearing the black silk robe to wear to bed, leaving her boots and dress behind in the privy. She walked past Grogu, snoring soundly in his crib. She trudged past him to the main room and found Mando sitting on the bed with his back propped up against the headboard, waiting for her. She wasn’t surprised to see him still awake but had hoped he would have fallen asleep by the time she came out.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his helmet studying her closely in the darkened room.

She gave him a tired smile and nodded. “Tired,” she mumbled as an explanation as she pulled the plush, midnight blue comforter back so she could crawl into bed.

Thankfully, Din didn’t press her further.

The mattress felt like heaven. No offense to the bed Mando had made for her with the hodgepodge of mattresses he put together, but this bed was perfection. The moment her head hit the pillow, her eyes drifted closed, and the last thing she felt before sleep overcame her was Din’s bare hand stroking her head.

And then the nightmares came.

They hadn't disappeared entirely during their brief interlude on the moon, but the frequency in which they came had decreased drastically. She should have known that her luck wouldn't hold out forever. Every time she drifted off, it was only to wake up from a different nightmare. 

The first one was in the regular rotation of her nightmares. It was waking up back in the main lab in the lava flats on Nevarro as if the months with Mando and Grogu had never happened. It was the same thing every time she was strapped to the cold metal table in the lab with Pershing and Gideon standing on either side of her, staring at her. She tried to scream, but her mouth was gagged, preventing her from doing so. There was one notable difference with this dream. Instead of being gagged with a cloth or her mouth taped closed, Alaina realized that it was her fanned rawl, in its new frightening red color that had wrapped around her head and mouth, preventing her from screaming. The serpent coiled itself around her mouth tighter when her green eyes locked on its red ones, and when the rawl hissed at her, she snapped awake. She had to do a double take at the room to reassure herself that she wasn’t still a prisoner. It was only when she heard Din’s even breaths coming from the man sleeping next to her that she let herself relax.

She was so tired that it didn’t take long for her to fall back asleep. Unfortunately, her mind wasn’t done tormenting her. The second nightmare was in the cell Pershing had locked her away in, isolating her for days on end. Only this time, there was no Mandalorian hallucination to keep her company. There was only the red rawl. The serpent was coiled beside her, staring at her with its red eyes. Alaina could only stare at it, petrified and frozen in fear. When the viper launched itself at her, attacking her leg where her anklet was, Alaina shot awake again.

“It’s okay,” Din mumbled in his sleep beside her. “You’re safe.”

Alaina sagged back into the mattress at hearing his words. It took her longer to fall back asleep the third time. She lay on her back for some unknown period of time, staring up at the black gauzy canopy above the bed until her breathing leveled out. She was eventually lulled back to sleep as her breathing matched Din’s even breaths.

The third and final nightmare was not one she’d had before. She instantly recognized their moon, her slice of beauty, and heaven in the galaxy… but it was dead. The tall lavender grass had turned black to match the dense forest and the shore of the emerald green lake that had long gone dry. Standing on the black pebbled shore barefoot, she was dressed in her hospital gown with Penn Pershing in his crisp, white uniform before her. “My wife,” he smiled at her. Alaina felt herself go cold at his words and frantically searched for any sign of Mando, but he was nowhere to be found. After a minute of searching, she heard the familiar hissing sound of her fanned rawl. She looked down at the ground and saw the red viper with its crimson body wrapped around Din’s empty beskar helmet. She blinked in shock at the beskar helm sitting beside her feet with no sign of its owner to be found.

She jolted awake after that. After three nightmares, Alaina felt more exhausted than she was before she crawled into bed. Even though she was exhausted, she decided to stay awake instead of risking a fourth nightmare. At some point between her second and third nightmare, Din had pulled her into his arms and had fallen back asleep with her wrapped protectively against his chest. Alaina tried to draw comfort from his embrace but was finding it difficult to do so as her mind worked overdrive analyzing her nightmares.

Were they omens? Or were they nothing more than her mind processing the events of the day? 

It was easy to correlate the wedding nightmare with Din’s empty helmet to their talk earlier in the evening… But the more Alaina analyzed the red rawl’s positions in each dream, the more she thought back on the dream or vision she’d had where her mother had returned to her. Right before her mother had walked in, Pershing, Gideon, and Mando all stood over her on that table, trying to determine what was wrong with her. Pershing had suggested her mind, and the red rawl wrapped around her head in the first dream. Gideon had suggested her leg because Alaina never forgot his comment at their dinner—“Something tells me there won’t be much left of you, and, well, that would be a bit like a ballerina without the use of her legs… pointless.” In her second nightmare tonight, the viper attacked her leg… Of course, Gideon had technically been talking about her mind, but the thought of being unable to run if the opportunity presented itself had stuck with her. But it was Mando pushing his finger into the middle of her chest that cemented the connections for her. “The problem is here,” he’d said, pushing his finger into her chest. The problem was her heart. The third and final nightmare had her fanned rawl wrapped around Din’s helmet.

Her heart.

Once again, she found herself thinking of fairytales and nightmares and love. The problem was her heart… because as much as she wanted to believe she was getting better, she was still broken.

But why did her dreams come tonight? Especially three nightmares, all featuring the red fanned rawl?

If there was a connection… if they were omens… what was it trying to warn her of? That there was something wrong with her? Well, what wasn’t wrong with her at this point? Her mind was wounded. She was prone to run away from her problems… and her heart… well… her heart was currently holding the broken pieces of her in his arms.

Or was her rawl trying to warn her of something with Din?

Or was she just trying to find connections? Were they nothing more than bad dreams? Was the new red rawl working with her or against her? Was it a warning that she shouldn’t use her powers? Or was it showing her that she, too, could change? 

Was it worth it?

Was she worth it?

The hours ticked by as she watched the light shift from dark to light outside the glass doors leading to the balcony as the sun rose. Din’s breathing had remained even and deep since she awoke from her last nightmare, and she did her best to feign sleep so she wouldn’t rouse him. One of them should be able to get some sleep, and Din’s upcoming role was more important than hers. However, as the sun breached the balcony, bathing their room in a muted orange light, she could feel Din’s body shift from sleeping to awake as he tightened his arms around her.

“How long have you been awake?” eventually came his question, and Alaina smiled, enjoying how deep and scratchy his voice was when he first woke up.

“Just a little while,” she lied.

Din shifted, and as he moved, he made her roll over to face him, which she could only assume was to study her face. She tried to give him a forced smile, but she knew he saw straight through it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she soothed, placing her hand on his chest. “Just tired.”

“You’re lying,” came his quick accusation.

“Not lying. Just a little headache,” she told him, which was at least partly true, but she didn’t want to tell him she’d spiraled after their conversation last night. He didn’t need to concern himself with her nightmares. Other more important things required his attention today. Ensuring a King didn’t get assassinated today came first. “Probably should have listened to you about staying in the tub for so long last night,” she admitted, giving him a tired smile.

Mando hummed as his helmet inspected her head. “The altitude takes some—”

Alaina never got to hear the rest of that sentence because, at that moment, the black iron door to their room slammed open, startling them both. Mando shot out of bed faster than she’d ever seen him move. In less than the blink of an eye, he was standing at the foot of the bed, putting himself between Alaina and harm’s way, with his blaster trained on their intruder while Alaina struggled to sit up and ensure her robe was wrapped tightly around her.

“Good morning!” came Iris Haze’s exceedingly jovial greeting as she strolled into their room, wearing her turquoise guard robes. When she found Mando standing at the foot of the bed and Alaina dressed in only the black silk robe she’d borrowed, the woman pretended to be surprised as she asked, “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I interrupting something?”

Alaina rolled her eyes as her heart finally began to beat again. Then she glared at the woman, who looked as if she had absolutely zero regrets about her entrance.

“Iris,” Mando barked, lowering his blaster. “What the hell is your problem?”

“It’s the big day today!” Iris smiled at him. “I have exactly nine hours to turn your new bedwarmer into a Queen,” she sneered. “Besides, you’ve been summoned by Rhoam to join him for a meeting with the guards and go over plans for when the Dukes and their parties begin to arrive.”

“Aren’t you his Chief of Security?” he growled. “Shouldn’t you be a part of that meeting, too, instead of barging into bedrooms at the crack of dawn?”

“Mando,” Iris smiled as she stalked closer to them. “I have the most important job of them all,” she continued, her eyes sliding to Alaina’s on the bed. “I am in charge of ensuring the future Queen’s safety,” she mocked, lifting a challenging eyebrow at the Mandalorian before she plopped down on the bed next to Alaina’s feet. “At least until it’s time for the dance, and then she’s your responsibility again. Besides, I want to get to know the kind of person my new sister Queen is.”

Alaina shared a look with Mando, but they both knew there was no escaping the inevitable. Especially if they had any hope of making people believe their story. So, when Mando cocked his helmet, silently asking her if she was okay, Alaina grimaced and gave him a nod.

“Looking forward to it,” Alaina said, with her grimace still plastered on her face, not believing a word of what she just said.

“That’s the spirit!” Iris grinned, slapping the corner of the bed. “Now, you have places to be, and this,” she paused to wave her hand around the room, “is officially a no boys allowed zone. So, you and whatever the little green goblin is need to leave.”

“Hey,” Alaina cut in, glaring at the chestnut-haired woman. “His name is Grogu, and he's not a goblin.”

“Then what is it?”

“Ours,” Alaina growled defensively, sitting up a little straighter.

Iris’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “My, my,” she tutted, twisting her lips into a smile. “Looks like there is a backbone in there after all. And I was worried today was going to be dull.” The woman jumped up from the bed and strode toward the kitchenette. “I’m going to get us a cup of caf, and the boys better be gone by the time I’m done.”

Mando shook his head, walked around the bed to Alaina’s side, and paused to look at her before asking, “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

Alaina nodded and rolled off the bed, tightening her robe around her chest. “It’s just one day. I’ve been through worse,” she shrugged.

“Let me know if you still feel that way after spending nine hours with her,” he grumbled sarcastically. With one last lingering look, he walked to wake Grogu up from the changing area.

Alaina took a moment to study the other woman from across the room, who appeared to ignore her as she focused on making their caf. 

At least the woman’s surprise entrance chased away her exhaustion from the adrenaline spike she caused. She could do this. Nine hours with an obnoxious, beautiful woman who had apparently gotten to experience Din taking her up against an alley wall… Alaina pursed her lips and tried to push away the surge of jealousy returning at that thought. She’d survived being a lab rat for five years… she could survive nine hours of Iris Haze.

Mando walked out of the room with Grogu blinking sleepily in his arms, and Alaina couldn’t help but smile at the vision of the hulking armored man with the tiny green toddler. That image alone would be what she used to get through the next nine hours.

“Good morning, little one,” she cooed, walking to meet them. She gave Grogu a quick peck on the top of his wrinkly head. “You behave yourself today, understand?” Grogu just slowly blinked at her. “Make sure Mando behaves himself, too,” she told him, sharing a conspiratory smile with their ward.

“Find me if you need anything, okay?” he murmured lowly, and Alaina nodded back at him. Mando shared their look for only a second before he nodded and strode out the door with Grogu in tow, leaving Alaina alone.

With Iris Haze.

The other woman watched as the door closed and turned her gaze to Alaina. Alaina lifted her chin slightly, challenging the woman as she appeared to assess her. She poured them each a mug of steaming caf before she walked toward her. Alaina prepared herself for whatever was coming because she could do this. She would do this, and they would leave. She would do this and, with any luck, prove to herself and Mando that Alaina Corra was worth it.

And if she could do it, then maybe she wasn’t as broken as she thought. Maybe Din, her heart, had put some of her pieces back together. It was a small light at the end of a tunnel that gave her a glimmer of hope.

Nine hours. That was it. A blink of an eye, really.

Iris walked with their mugs, stopped at the sitting area in front of the fireplace, and placed their drinks on the table. “Come sit,” she invited, nodding to one of the uncomfortable-looking leather chairs. “Let’s chat.”

Alaina nodded and trudged to join the other woman. Instead of taking a seat, Iris walked past her chair to the door Mando and Grogu had just exited. She listened briefly before opening the door and checking the hall. When she found no one there, she set her sights on Alaina.

“Okay, he’s gone. You can drop the act,” Iris said, marching to come toe to toe with her. Alaina’s eyes went wide, and she tried to take a step away from the woman, but Iris’s hands gripped her by her shoulders, preventing her from leaving. The woman studied her face and then asked something Alaina would have never dreamed of leaving the woman’s mouth, “Are you safe?”

“Safe…” Alaina repeated dumbly, blinking her eyes in confusion at the scrutinizing chocolate ones staring her down.

“I’m not an idiot. He’s a bounty hunter. So, be honest with me. Is he holding you against your will?”

Oh. Alaina blinked again as her mind slowly caught up with what Iris was trying to ask her, and shook her head.

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” Iris continued, and like watching her peel away a mask, Alaina watched as the woman’s entire body language changed from one of a snide, petty bitch, to one of a protector. “Say the word, and I will get you someplace safe. I have a best friend that specializes in this. We can get you somewhere safe, where not even a bounty hunter would be able to track you down.”

“I’m safe!” Alaina jumped in, nodding quickly once her brain caught up with what Iris was implying. “I promise! Mando and I are… well, it’s difficult to explain, but it’s not like that.” This time, she thought, but kept that to herself. Whatever look came over her face made the other woman narrow her gaze, so for good measure, Alaina added, “I swear.”

Alaina watched Iris’ chocolate eyes study her for another moment before the woman apparently made up her mind and let her go. Alaina watched the other woman, still feeling confused, as Iris flopped into the chair opposite the one Alaina was standing next to. “Good,” she said, grabbing her mug. “I would have been disappointed to hear he wasn’t the kind of man I had pictured him being.”

Alaina’s mind felt slow and sluggish as she tried to process what was happening. She felt dumbfounded as she just stood there and blinked at Iris. “Wait, so this whole time, you thought Mando was holding me against my will?” Alaina asked, trying to wrap her mind around the abrupt change in the woman’s attitude. “That’s why you’ve been a…” she tapered off, stopping herself before she said something offensive.

“A?” Iris prodded.

Alaina cringed, “A mildly unpleasant person?”

Iris smirked and took a long sip from her mug. “Partly,” she admitted with a shrug and an apologetic smile. “The other part is because it’s just as fun as I remember to get under his armor. Are you just going to stand there, or are you gonna have a seat and join me for some caf? Trust me, you’ll be thankful for the extra caffeine by the end of the day.”

In a daze, Alaina walked to sit in the chair. She grabbed her cup and sniffed it, pleased to find it already smelled better than the instant caf Din had on the Crest. 

“So, tell me,” Iris began, and Alaina looked up as she took the first sip. “How’s the sex?”

Alaina sputtered and accidentally inhaled a swig of the dark brown liquid down the wrong pipe. “Iris!” she choked out.

“What?” Iris questioned her, looking like Alaina had grown another head, but then, soon, the evil grin that Alaina was more familiar with reemerged. “Just a hunch based on that delicious-looking bruise you’re sporting on your neck. Didn’t see it last night with all your hair.” Alaina’s hand flew to her neck to hide the giant hickey that stood out against her pale skin. She could only hope that Din's teeth marks were no longer visible. “Oh, calm down,” Iris chided. “It’s nice to see that you’re maybe not quite the perfect little angel Rhoam is convinced you are,” Iris groaned, rolling her eyes. “Although…” she continued, leveling a dreamy look at her. “In the spirit of honesty, I admit I wasn’t lying last night. I did try and get him to be our third.”

“I heard,” Alaina replied, still grimacing at the burning caf she had just inhaled. 

“Oh, so Mando kisses and tells… pity,” Iris said, winking at her. “But honestly, can you blame me? You’ve seen Rhoam. And you’ve seen whatever you’ve seen of Beskar Boy. Tell me that if you had the opportunity to be sandwiched between the two of them, you wouldn’t jump on it?”

“Iris!” Alaina scoffed and felt her cheeks flush at the woman’s comment.

“Of course… Rhoam’s bed is big enough for four…” she tapered off, wagging her eyebrows suggestively at her. “And if Mando is still against joining us, there is always room for a third…” Iris tapered off again as her chocolate eyes swept over her. “I bet you’re a screamer.”

She felt her cheeks flush hotter, but she tried to fix the intimidating woman with her best glare. “I’m flattered, but I think we’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” Iris shrugged, but Alaina didn’t sense the woman was actually disappointed by her refusal. “Now, I have nine hours to turn you into a Queen—” Iris paused and narrowed her eyes on her face, making Alaina uncomfortable again. “Alaina, your nose is bleeding,” she stated, alarmed.

Alaina blinked, brought her fingers up to her nose, and was surprised to find bright red blood on her fingertips.

“Are you okay?”

She quickly placed her mug on the table and rose from her chair. “Excuse me,” Alaina mumbled, heading to the privy and leaving a concerned-looking Iris behind. 

Once alone in the privy, Alaina inspected her face in the vanity mirror. The blood was minor. Almost nonexistent compared to the bleeds she’d had before… but those were usually associated with using her powers somehow. With a frown, Alaina used a tissue to clean her face and relaxed when she saw that the bleeding had already stopped. It was probably because of her headache. Stress, the altitude, her brain attempting to melt away—

“Everything okay in there, sweets?” Iris asked, knocking lightly on the door.

Sweets? Maybe she had died in the tub last night. If not last night, maybe she died from the shock of Iris surprising them this morning and had woken up in some alternate universe—a universe where Iris Haze was a decent human being.

Alaina blinked, staring back at the green eyes of her reflection. The bleeding had stopped for now, and she had other things to worry about. The top of that list was why Iris felt it would take nine hours to turn her into whatever the other woman thought she should look like to pass as a Queen.

She took a deep breath to steel herself for the day to come. A day with whoever this new bizarro Iris Haze was.

Her green eyes hardened, and she nodded to herself. She could do this. Because the question was no longer, was it worth it?

It was—was she worth it?

And if Din Djarin, her heart, was going to risk his status as a Mandalorian for her…

Then, Alaina Corra would do everything in her power to ensure she was worth it. 

“Yes,” Alaina called out, tossing the bloody tissue in the bin. “Just the dry mountain air,” she covered, exiting the privy and smiling at the brown-eyed, brown-haired woman. “So, what did you have in mind for today? I only have three outfits, and none of them would probably be considered acceptable to wear tonight. I’ll probably need a dress for tonight—”

“You’ll need more than just a dress,” Iris commented, raking her eyes up and down her body.

Alaina pouted, “I’m not that bad… am I?”

The answering raised eyebrow was answer enough. 

When Iris continued to stress that they only had nine hours to prepare her for the dance tonight, Alaina thought she was being sarcastic.

She was not.

The morning started with a stop at the medical ward, where Iris had someone use a dermal regenerator to make her hickey and dark smudges under her eyes disappear. After Alaina let it slip that the nosebleed and headache were from the altitude, Iris had the medic give her some kind of vitamin injection that surprisingly made her feel better. Her headache disappeared almost instantly, making Alaina pleasantly surprised that her fib turned into fact.

“The altitude is no joke,” Iris confirmed. “Just wait till you adapt to it and leave.”

Now that she was clear-headed and no longer looked like a ghost, Alaina felt like a new person. A new person who realized that she was walking around a castle in nothing but a short, silk bathrobe.

Iris seemed to have the same idea. So, before they left the med bay, Iris had a purple robe that matched Rhoam’s from yesterday when he greeted them at the landing pad, and a pair of slippers were brought to her so she didn’t have to walk around wearing only her silk bathrobe. Also, somehow, caf seemed to magically appear from nowhere for them as they left the medical ward toward their next destination.

Alaina took everything in. The castle was even more gorgeous in the daylight, with the sun shining through the high arching windows. Iris told her there would be time for a better tour later, but when Alaina’s face lit up as they passed by a courtyard with one of the castle’s five gardens, she allowed a slight detour.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here because I might never leave,” Alaina told her, looking around at all of the plants and flowers she’d never seen before. Vines covered all four walls of the courtyard with leaves that provided a gradient from deep, dark purple to a brilliant, bright orange, which made Alaina feel like she was walking through the sunset. There were two small ponds on either end of the garden, and when she saw a black frog hop off one of the lilypads into the water, she made a mental note to remember to bring Grogu back here.

Iris was surprisingly… pleasant.

The two talked and drank caf while they walked through the gardens. It was like being with one of her friends from home. She was easy to talk to, had traveled everywhere before she settled here, and became an orphan around the same age Alaina had become one, making her even easier to talk to. As they strolled through the gardens, she would pepper in pieces of information about the Riverlands to make Alaina’s backstory appear real. Iris had also made it her mission to get it through Alaina’s head that she was supposed to look and act like royalty. 

Whenever Alaina went to open a door first or would shrink away slightly, Iris was there instantly. “You’re gonna be a Queen. Act like one,” she reprimanded Alaina, batting Alaina’s hand away from the door so Iris could hold it open for her as they left the garden.

They continued their leisurely stroll through the castle until they stopped at a door resembling all the other black iron doors. “And this is where the magic happens,” Iris informed her before opening the door.

The magic happened to be an entire team of strangers ready to pluck, wax, primp, and polish Alaina into someone she didn’t recognize. Two people were assigned to her wardrobe, two to her hair, and two more to makeup and ‘prep work.’

Immediately upon entering, Alaina found herself standing on a pedestal in the middle of the room, surrounded by six people. She was forced to shed her purple robe and now wore only her thin black silk bathrobe in front of a room full of strangers. The people talked over one another while they dissected her to create the perfect look for the evening.

Alaina had no idea how they could understand anyone else’s input, much or less their own thoughts, with how loud they spoke. Should they let her keep her curly hair? What color gown would look best? They even discussed what kind of undergarments she should wear underneath her dress.

She felt invisible, surrounded by this team of people as they closed around her, taking measurements, tugging at her curls, and holding fabric swatches against her skin. Meanwhile, Iris found a chair in the corner of the room and looked content to let the team work while she sipped her caf and studied something on a datapad. The only time the other woman had any input was when someone brought in a gaudy ballgown that would have made Alaina look like a rhinestone-encrusted marshmallow.

“Absolutely not,” Iris scolded the woman carrying the sparkling dress around. “No one will be able to find her through all that tulle. She needs something dramatic. Something that will make a statement when she walks into the room. Something that accentuates her eyes.” One of the other wardrobe members walked to Iris to let her peruse what Alaina assumed were other dress alternatives on their datapad. Alaina’s frustrated glare went unnoticed by Iris or anyone else in the room, for that matter. Because why would Alaina have any input on the dress she would wear? Iris swiped through a few options before she paused and looked up at Alaina with a smile. “That one.”

Once the dress was decided, she was swept away to another room with the two team members responsible for the bulk of the prep work. At least these two spoke to her. Or, more precisely, spoke at her. The two men in charge of her hair were infatuated with her curls and chatted about this and that while they combed through her hair. Thankfully, no one asked her any questions about Rhoam or the Riverlands. Alaina wasn’t sure if Iris had instructed them not to or if they considered her one of the many Iris would eventually chase off.

Once they had her hair slathered in some sort of mask, they left her alone in the room with two rather burly women who had no time for Alaina’s modesty. They set to work waxing almost every hair below her eyebrows from her body, and when Alaina commented on using lasers instead, she swore one of the women yanked their strip harder. After an hour under their hands, Alaina seriously reconsidered her offer to help.

“Everything okay in there?” Iris called from the other side of the door, startling Alaina out of her thoughts.

Alaina blinked at the woman staring back at her in the mirror. She’d long forgotten what it was like to keep up with certain beauty rituals, but this was beyond anything she ever did. The woman staring back at her was almost unrecognizable.

Her hair had been straightened and trimmed (slightly), and the hairdressers even added some highlights, brightening her golden locks. They’d then done some very tiny intricate braids that formed what looked like a flower or a knot on the left side of her head that forced her hair to fall over her right shoulder. A few random pieces and the ends were curled, giving it a more polished look. Alaina tracked her hair as it fell to her hips. She remembered straightening it once when she was in school, and it took her hours only for her curls to start coming back halfway through the day, and she decided after that it wasn’t worth the hassle. Whatever mask they used had to be magic.

As for the rest of her… the word dramatic was an understatement.

The makeup artists accentuated her eyes with a flared cat eye and a smokey finish, making her emerald irises pop against her dark lids. Her lips were a muted, dusky pink that was just a shade or two darker than her natural color but didn’t detract from her eyes. She’d forgotten what it was like to wear makeup and get dressed up. This particular look was more dramatic than anything she would have done herself, but gorgeous nonetheless.

And the dress… Maker. The dress was exquisite. It looked as if it had been molded or painted on her body. It was strapless with a deep cut in the front that went just past her sternum. There was another embarrassing moment where the wardrobe team had to tape her breasts to the dress to prevent any slips, but it only added to the illusion that the dress had been painted on her. She’d never seen a material quite like this dress, either. It looked as if tiny shards made up the fabric, making it look like the gown was glass or liquid metal the way it gleamed under the lights. The bodice was a dark emerald green color that slowly darkened as it reached her waistline until it faded into black as it reached her calves and carried on to the hemline. The metallic texture only added to the look. Alaina couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed that her back was exposed or that there was a slit up her right leg that went all the way to her hip. 

She was no longer the lost, demure ballerina.

She looked like she was meant to be there.

Hopefully, she would prove to herself and Mando that she was meant to be there.

Alaina blinked at her reflection in surprise. With a smile, she felt another broken shard slide into place when she realized that for the first time since Mando rescued her on Nevarro, Alaina wanted something.

She wanted something more. She wanted Mando and a real life with him and Grogu. It didn’t matter what that looked like. It was okay that it didn’t match her childhood fantasies. She just wanted them. Her family.

“Alaina?” Iris called again, knocking on the door.

With a deep breath, Alaina pulled herself away from the mirror in her dressing room and opened the door.

Iris’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and the woman let out a low whistle as she took in her final look. “I have excellent taste if I say so myself,” she commented, giving Alaina a little wink. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you, Iris,” Alaina offered, stepping out of the dressing room. “Were you able to find my bag?”

Iris nodded and handed her the black canvas bag she’d gone to retrieve from their suite while she was changing. Alaina stuck her hand in the bag and felt around until she found her dagger and pulled it out.

“Speaking of stunning,” Iris whispered, yanking her mother’s dagger from her hand to examine it. “This is gorgeous,” she commented, running her fingers over the hilt and scales of the fanned rawl. “Beskar?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off the weapon.

“Yes. How can you tell?” Alaina asked, surprised that the woman could tell. So far, Din was the only one who appeared to notice, but she just assumed it was because he wore beskar from head to toe.

“When you’ve been playing with weapons for as long as I have, you can tell. Dang, Beskar Boy has it bad for you,” Iris said, passing her the dagger back as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Actually, it was my mother’s,” Alaina told her, smiling sadly at the dagger.

The look of surprise grew on Iris’s face, “Your mother was a Mandalorian?”

Alaina huffed out a laugh and shook her head. Finding out her mother was possibly a Jedi was enough of a surprise for one lifetime. “No, it was a gift to her from my father,” she explained.

“So your father was a Mandalorian?”

“No?” Alaina answered, confused by the question. “He was a soldier. Why do you think one of them was a Mandalorian?”

Iris looked at her with an equal look of confusion. “I mean, beskar is a Mandalorian staple. I know that after the Empire got their hands on Mandalore, more and more beskar ended up on the black market. So, anything is possible… I’ve just never seen something like that,” Iris paused to nod at her mother’s dagger, “in the hands of someone who wasn’t a Mandalorian.”

Alaina frowned at the dagger. She recalled Din saying something to that effect on Sorgan, but she hadn’t thought anything of it. “Well, I can confirm I am not a Mandalorian. After being with Mando, I got the impression that not a lot of Mandalorians were trained as ballerinas,” she laughed.

Iris’s eyebrows shot up at that comment. “I’m sorry, did you say ballerina?” she asked, looking at her as if she’d grown a second head. “How did you end up with Mando?”

Alaina chuckled, “It’s a long story.”

“I can only imagine,” Iris replied, giving her one last look before shrugging. “Anyway, the dagger is a good call,” the other woman commended her, making Alaina smile. If Iris thought it was a good call, then hopefully, Din would be proud of her for thinking of having a weapon on her, too. “Something for protection without being too obvious. And I’ve got just the thing for you to go with it,” she continued, turning around to find her own bag resting in the chair Iris had been in most of the day.

At some point, while Alaina was getting dressed for the dance, Iris changed out of her turquoise guard robes for a black shirt, tactical pants, and boots for whatever stealth operation she had planned. The woman rifled through her bag, muttering to herself, until she finally popped back up, holding something with black straps in her hand.

“Now, remember,” Iris began as she knelt in front of her, and Alaina jumped in surprise when the woman reached into the slit of her dress to strap the garter to her left thigh. “Let Rhoam do most of the talking. He’s good at it and loves being the center of the attention,” she continued. “Stay by his side as much as you can, and when you can’t, stay in Mando’s eyesight. Something tells me Beskar Boy will find it difficult to look away from you,” she said, giving Alaina a knowing smirk. Alaina blushed at her comment, but Iris ignored her, holding her hand for Alaina’s dagger. “When you have to converse, keep the conversation light. Remember your backstory. The Duke of the Riverlands is Rhoam’s cousin and has already been filled in on the ruse. You can trust him, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” Iris told her seriously as she slid the dagger into place in the garter holster and stood back up.

“How long do these dances typically last?” Alaina inquired, adjusting to the feeling of the dagger and garter hugging her thigh.

Iris shrugged. “A few hours. Long enough for people to get drunk and forget why they are mad at each other after their meeting,” she continued, with a quick roll of her eyes. “They only do this once every five months, so they tend to take advantage of it—especially the significant others. The Dukes’ partners will no doubt glob onto you at some point. I trust them even less than I trust the Dukes, but you may be able to learn something from them. They all hate me. Use that to your advantage if you want. Just proceed with caution.”

Alaina nodded as someone knocked on the door.

“The food and drinks have all been tested for poisons,” Iris carried on as she went to answer the door. “But don’t consume anything that isn’t offered to you by Rhoam, Mando, or any of my guards.”

Alaina nodded again, nervously running her hands down her dress as Iris opened the door to let Rhoam in. The King had been dressed in a black suit with dark, emerald green accents that matched her dress. He looked sharp in the dark outfit with his slicked-back brown hair. She couldn’t help but wonder what he would have been dressed in if Iris hadn’t stepped in to prevent Alaina from becoming a tulle marshmallow.

“My love,” Rhoam greeted Iris, giving her a bow before grabbing her hand and pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. When he stood to his full, towering height, Iris nodded for him to look in Alaina’s direction. Rhoam turned his electric blue eyes to her, and Alaina gave him a nervous smile when she saw those eyes darken. “Angel,” he breathed out, leaving Iris to inspect Alaina’s outfit. Rhoam circled her once, making her feel self-conscious under his scrutiny, but when he returned to her front, he stopped and fixed her with his stunning smile. “You are absolutely breathtaking,” he told her, reaching out to pull some more of her hair over her right shoulder. “The look suits you, dark angel,” he murmured, grabbing her hand to plant a kiss on her fingers.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” Alaina responded, grabbing his suit's dark, emerald green lapels to straighten them.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Iris interjected, leveling a look at Rhoam. “I already asked her to be our third, and she turned me down.”

Rhoam’s blue eyes sparked in amusement. “Pity,” he answered, giving her a wink. “Although, something tells me that even if she did, there would be a certain Mandalorian who would have a different opinion on who Alaina should be spending her time with.”

Alaina blushed and ducked her head. The thought of Din seeing her like this made her more nervous than the rest of the plan for the evening. He’d seen her wearing various items of clothing they’d picked up along the way, but he’d never seen her wearing something so formal.

“He’s going to love it,” Rhoam said, reading her mind. “And if he doesn’t, then we’ll just keep you here for ourselves,” he said, giving her a wicked smile.

“You two get a move on,” Iris ordered, nodding to the door. “I’ll come join you once we’re done. If something happens, my guards will contact me, and I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

Rhoam nodded and looped Alaina’s hand through his arm. “Our meetings were rather tame today, so I’m hoping that will continue tonight.”

Iris fixed him with a pointed look, “Still—”

“Still,” Rhoam said, cutting Iris off with his soft voice, “we will be cautious. Be safe, my love.”

Iris nodded, “You too,” she whispered, giving them a tight smile before she walked up to Alaina. “Remember,” she started, taking her hand to tilt Alaina’s chin up a touch higher. “You’re a Queen. Act like it,” she said before she spun out of the room, disappearing into the hall like a shadow.

This was it, Alaina thought, staring at the open door. She looked around, half expecting Mando to step in, but he never did.

“I had Mando wait in the hall to keep an eye on our guests,” Rhoam told her as he escorted her out of the ready room and toward the dance. “Hopefully, he will still be able to keep an eye on them after he sees you,” he teased.

“Mando’s a professional,” Alaina answered smoothly. But a not-so-small part of her secretly hoped that Mando would like her outfit.

“Yes, well, as professional as he may be, I won’t come looking for you if the two of you disappear for a minute… or ten,” Rhoam smirked.

Alaina flushed at his implications. “That won’t be necessary,” she told him, holding her head high. “I’m your intended for the evening.”

“Don’t tempt me, angel,” Rhoam told her with a wink. “Besides, my mother’s cousin was only too eager to go in on our little act. He made sure to let everyone else know any chance he got that a Riverlands girl would be the next Queen. I think there will be enough interest in you that you and your Mandalorian won’t be able to slip away even if you tried to. Then again, if the night is boring, that might work in our favor. To have someone discover my intended being taken by a Mandalorian…”

Alaina snorted, “Not my style.”

“Whatever you say, my dark angel,” Rhoam said lowly as they turned the last corner.

The corridor leading to the hall where the dance was to take place was lined with guards in turquoise robes with their staffs. Upon further inspection, Alaina realized that the staffs the guards all carried were actually spears. They weren't close enough yesterday for her to realize that. When Rhoam nudged her, Alaina directed her head forward, copying Rhoam’s gestures as they walked to the banquet hall entrance. She could hear the muffled sounds of music and people talking on the other side of the door before she heard someone announce their arrival.

“Here we go,” Rhoam whispered, tightening his looped arm around hers as the doors opened.

The music stopped, and people dropped their conversations as they walked through the door, pausing at the top of the black marble staircase. There was a beat of silence, and all of the guests' eyes were on them before all the men in the room dropped to one knee, and all the women bowed their heads.

Except for one.

Mando stood at the foot of the staircase, with his helmet locked on her as Rhoam escorted her down the imposing marble staircase. Alaina did her best to keep her head directed forward but couldn’t stop her eyes from finding the silver armored sentry waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. 

When Alaina felt their connection flare hot as they reached the last step, she gave Mando a little smirk before returning to the room to find that all eyes were on her.

“Mando,” Rhoam greeted, and the two men gripped their forearms in greeting. “I’d like to introduce you to Dietes’ future Queen, Alaina,” Rhoam said, pulling Alaina to stand between them.

“My Lady,” Mando said in greeting before bowing his head.

“Now, now,” he tutted, “save it for the bedroom,” Rhoam teased under his breath and then spun away from Mando, leading Alaina to the others eagerly awaiting to meet their next Queen.

Alaina blushed as the King escorted her across the hall, but when she looked up, she gasped at the glass ceiling that allowed the moon to be the main event.

"The blood moon," Rhoam explained quietly. Alaina had to force herself to pull her attention away from the bright red moon, remembering that she was supposed to act like this wasn't her first time seeing it. "If you are to believe the ancient stories, in one of the battles, the blood moon revived a dead man on this very mountaintop," he told her, shrugging his shoulders. "That man became Dietes' first King, and his blood has flowed through the royal family ever since."

Alaina smiled, hoping it didn't look like a million questions were running through her mind as they stopped before Dietes' other leaders.

The introductions to the other Dukes seemed to drag on. Iris had already given her a brief rundown, but Alaina still struggled to remember everyone’s names. She was doing well, just to keep all of the territories straight. Aside from the castle’s territory and the Riverlands, there were the Plainlands, the Woodlands, the Crystallands, the Traillands, and the Starrylands. The Duke of the Riverlands was Rhoam’s cousin, and the Duke of the Crystallands was the same age as his Riverlands counterpart. 

The other four were roughly Rhoam’s age, and she remembered him telling them at dinner last night that he’d grown up with them. Alaina had to force her smile as they reached the younger generation. Something, her gut or her ability to read others, made her wary. There were so many people in the room that she couldn’t narrow down exactly who made her uneasy, but she had a sinking suspicion that Iris might find something on her fact-finding mission.

“You just let me know when you’re ready to hear all of his embarrassing schoolboy stories,” Kane, the Duke of the Woodlands, told her, earning him a playful shove from Rhoam.

“I’d love to hear them sometime,” Alaina told him with her fake smile plastered across her face. Her cheeks hurt from forcing her smile, and they’d only finished the introductions.

“Let’s not scare away my new intended just yet,” Rhoam joked, placing a protective hand on the small of her back. “Or, at the very least, wait until we’re all good and sloshed at the end of the night, so she hopefully won’t remember a word you tell her,” he said, giving Alaina a little wink while the group around them laughed. “Speaking of, I’m parched, if you’ll excuse us,” he nodded, directing Alaina away from the group toward a long table lined with food and drinks.

Once they were no longer facing the other Dukes, Alaina let her smile drop. She relaxed slightly now that they were out of the immediate line of inquiry, thankful that Rhoam had taken them away from them. The further they walked away from the Dukes, the more the uneasy feeling faded until it disappeared completely.

“You’re doing great, angel,” he murmured, rubbing his hand up and down her exposed back.

The sound of someone quietly clearing their throat from somewhere behind them reminded her that Mando had been following them at their heels and now had the perfect view of Rhoam’s hand on the open expanse of her back.

“You know,” Rhoam began with a sly smile. “I just remembered that I need to check in on… something,” he mumbled vaguely, giving Alaina a wink. I’m afraid I will have to leave you in Mando’s company for a minute… or ten,” he teased. Rhoam motioned for two drinks and passed one to Alaina before walking down the table to find one of the guards standing in the corner of the room.

Alaina smiled at the server in thanks and turned to walk in the opposite direction of the King to a quiet corner of the hall with her Mandalorian sentry on her heels. She sipped her drink, which was some kind of blue champagne with red berries at the bottom of the glass. It was surprisingly sweet, and it would be easy to go through several glasses if she wasn’t too careful.

“Grogu?” she questioned as they came to a stop.

“Nursery,” came Mando’s gruff response. When Alaina gave him a concerned look, he followed up with, “Several of the Dukes brought their children. If they were planning something for tonight, I doubt they would leave their heirs there.”

Alaina nodded and returned her attention to the hall, watching the musicians begin to play music again while the other guests mingled.

“I think Iris is right,” Alaina told Mando, trying to appear casual.

Mando, ever the professional, kept his helmet on the King, who was still standing on the other side of the room speaking with the same guard. “What happened?” he asked, tension thick through his baritone voice.

“Nothing. Yet,” Alaina shrugged, sipping her drink. “I just got a… feeling when I was introduced to the younger Dukes.”

His helmet did a slow, cursory examination of the room, pausing briefly when he landed on the Dukes in question. “What did Rhoam say?” he asked as he returned his gaze to the King.

“Somehow, the topic of my witchy powers, as you like to call them, hasn’t come up,” she said sarcastically. “I wasn’t about to try and convince him that he shouldn’t trust his friends because they gave me indigestion.”

Mando snorted under his helmet, and Alaina couldn’t help the smirk that popped up from hearing it.

“I’ll trust your indigestion any day, Tranyc,” Mando informed her with the smallest lilt of amusement in his voice.

Alaina couldn’t help but turn to look at him to give him a fake, charming smile. “The words every girl dreams of hearing,” she replied, laying on the sarcasm. When she turned to look back at the dance floor, her smile turned to a more natural one as she watched some of the guests begin to dance. “You know, I used to get dressed up all the time. Whether it be for performances or to go out with friends,” she began, shifting slightly. “And this was fun for half an hour, but I’m already ready to get out of this thing.”

“You’re not to take that dress off once this night is over,” Mando murmured lowly next to her.

Her lips quirked at his command. “It’s not very practical,” she said, shifting slightly so the slit that went up her right side exposed a tiny flash of her leg.

Mando hummed, clasping his hands in front of him while they stood side by side. “You look beautiful,” he told her, trying to keep his voice casual.

Alaina blushed at his compliment and sipped her drink to try to calm herself. “Do I look like a Queen?” she asked, smiling at him.

“No,” came Mando’s firm answer, and Alaina knew she did a poor job keeping the hurt from her face. “You look like a goddess,” he said, sounding deadly serious. “And everyone in this room knows it.”

Alaina’s heart thundered in her chest at Mando’s words. She slid her eyes to his helmet before she said, “There’s only one person’s opinion in this room that I care about.” When she paused, she felt the invisible string that tied them together grow warm. “That would be Rhoam’s, of course,” she deadpanned, giving him a smirk before looking back at the dancefloor.

“Brat,” Mando growled quietly.

Alaina couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “How about I stay in this dress just long enough for you to take it off?” she countered, pretending not to look at him. “Then you’ll be able to find where my dagger is hidden on me,” she told him, smirking into her glass when she saw Mando’s helmet twitch from the corner of her eye. Apparently, the Mandalorian was struggling not to ogle her in front of the guests.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, my lady,” he answered, dropping his voice down an octave as he said the words, my lady.

“Alaina, was it?” a woman’s voice said from the other side of her, and Alaina cleared her throat to right herself. It was just in time because three of the Dukes’ partners were walking right toward her.

Alaina greeted the women as they approached with a polite smile, holding back the urge to outstretch her hand. They stopped and proceeded with a formal bow, giving Alaina time to give a panicked look to Rhoam before they righted themselves.

“So, we’ve been dying to hear the story of how you met King Rhoam,” the one in the middle said, eying Din with an annoyed look as he stood beside her, pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“My sister is one of the handmaidens for his cousin, the Duke of the Riverlands,” Alaina began. “I happened to be at the castle visiting her and quite literally ran into Rhoam,” she told them, giggling as she spun their made-up tale. “I was so embarrassed at the time, but I guess you could say it all worked out,” she finished, giving her audience a sly smile.

“I’m surprised that the off-worlder hasn’t chased you off already,” the woman on her right commented with a sneer.

“Yes, I’m surprised I haven’t seen Iris lurking around,” the woman in the middle said, looking around for the chestnut-haired woman.

You’re a Queen. Act like one.

Alaina held her chin a little higher and tried to look bored. “I’m afraid that Iris and I had a difference of opinion on who the actual Queen of Dietes was. She’s probably still back in her chambers licking her wounds. I’m sure she’ll show herself at some point this evening,” she finished haughtily, rolling her eyes.

The three women all shared matching looks of surprise before they returned their predatory smiles to her.

“It’s so refreshing to hear that. It’s about time Rhoam finally found someone to stand up to her.”

“Off-worlders.”

“Maybe we’ll finally get a real wedding this time.”

“Ladies,” Rhoam’s smooth voice greeted as he reappeared by Alaina’s side to grab her hand. “I hope you won’t mind if I steal this exquisite creature for a dance?”

Rhoam didn’t even wait for their reply. He snatched her drink from her hand to pass to Mando before dragging Alaina away from the vultures with a spin.

“You looked like you needed saving. The one in the middle is Kane’s wife. She puts on a show for the others but is known to be a decent person from time to time,” Rhoam told her once they were on the dance floor, away from prying ears.

“They don’t seem terribly fond of Iris,” Alaina remarked.

Rhoam smirked, but Alaina could see a proud glean in the King’s eyes. “No one outside myself or the castle staff is terribly fond of Iris,” he admitted. “Off-worlders are frowned upon on Dietes. Besides, she can be a bit of an acquired taste,” he said with a bit of a chuckle, but his face softened. “She means well, though.”

“Well, she’s made a friend in me,” Alaina told him, smiling when the man beamed at her. “How did your meetings go?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Boring. Almost too boring,” Rhoam answered, keeping his smile plastered across his face as he led her across the dance floor while avoiding running into other dancers. “Usually, someone throws a fit over something, but everyone was on their best behavior today. I couldn’t tell if that was because they were laying low in an attempt to avoid arousing suspicion or if being met by a Mandalorian as they disembarked their shuttles set the tone for the day.”

Alaina’s eyes found Din instantly. His silver armor made him stand out like a sore thumb in a room of people in formal attire. He walked the perimeter of the hall, staying in the shadows as he monitored the room, but Alaina knew he had one eye on her the entire time.

“Iris seems fairly certain someone is planning something,” Alaina commented as Rhoam took her in for a dip.

“Iris is paranoid,” came Rhoam’s quick response. “But that’s her job. She trusts her sources, and I trust her.”

She watched Mando tilt his helmet as Rhoam raised and twirled her just as the song ended.

“I trust her too,” Alaina told him. “Kane and the others… How well do you know them?” she asked.

“Oh, not you, too,” Rhoam grumbled as the music restarted with a slower melody.

Alaina smiled apologetically. “You must know there is a chance the rumors are true and that one of them may be behind them, or you wouldn’t have jumped when Mando contacted you for help,” she said, giving him a knowing look.

“What a bleak world we live in when those who I once considered brothers are possibly now my enemies,” he answered, and Alaina gave him a sad, understanding smile as Rhoam waltzed them by Mando. “I think our mutual acquaintance is rather smitten with you,” Rhoam teased her, changing the subject.

“Oh?” Alaina questioned, trying to keep her face neutral, but the smile on her face gave her away.

The King leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in her ear, “He mentioned you twice today.”

Alaina ducked her head to hide her blush.

“For a man of so few words to spare them on you…” he tapered off, wagging his eyebrows at her. “It must be love.”

Alaina’s heart clenched in her chest at Rhoam’s assessment. Her eyes slid to Mando, who tilted his helmet questioningly at her. She gave him a quick smile to tell him she was fine before she turned her attention back to Rhoam. “It’s… It’s complicated.”

“Love isn’t complicated. It’s your head that makes it complicated.”

Alaina gave him a tight smile as she considered Rhoam’s words.

The song ended, and the uneasy feeling from earlier returned, giving her something else to focus on instead of trying to decipher her heart.

“Alright, my friend,” a new voice said from behind her. “I think it’s time I have a dance or two with your most recent intended. I need to ensure she meets my criteria to be your wife,” the Duke of the Woodlands, Kane, said as he stopped beside them.

Rhoam smiled brightly and clapped the Duke’s shoulder. “I suppose I can spare her for one dance,” he told Kane, giving the man a warning look. “Just one, though. Don’t want you getting any ideas,” he said, smiling at Alaina as he passed her hand to the Duke’s. “Don’t fret, angel. I won’t let him steal you away.”

Alaina gave Rhoam a strained smile as she tried to swallow down the feeling, but it wouldn’t go away. Her head turned to look at Mando, finding him rigid in place, looking like he was debating whether or not she needed aid. A bonus of their bond, Alaina thought.

“Are you okay?” Kane asked, frowning at her.

Alaina’s heart rate spiked, and she could feel the beads of sweat forming along her brow.

“Yes, Alaina, you look unwell,” Rhoam commented, and she could see him motion for Mando, who was already walking toward them, out of the corner of her eye.

“Indigestion,” she grimaced.

When she felt the telltale throbbing inside her head, her heart felt like it plummeted out of her body.

Oh no. Not here. Not now.

“Let’s go find you someplace to sit down,” Kane suggested, bringing his hand to rest on her shoulder.

The moment the Duke’s hand touched her shoulder, lightning struck inside her mind, lighting it up in blinding pain as the vision began.

The rapid-fire pictures started spinning in her mind so quickly that Alaina had difficulties processing them.

The purple stalks of the lavender plains on their moon under the night sky. One of her kneeling in a pile of rubble with blood on her hands. Standing alone in the hall, Kane locked eyes with her and said, “There.” Seas of green. Mando’s helmet moved in slow motion as she watched his gloved hand drop it to the floor of the Crest at her foot. Bright, shining sunlight disappeared as it became eclipsed by the moon. “Will,” Kane’s voice continued over her visions. Blood covered her hands, and she watched as a single vermilion drop dripped from her fingertips. She looked down at her feet, surprised to find the hall flooded with green water. Alaina looked up to see Kane smiling at her as he said, “Be.” The green waters continued to rise, passing her knees, and she felt herself growing cold. “Nothing,” Kane’s voice continued as the waters rose, washing away her bloodied hands. “Left,” he finished as the waters completely engulfed them.

Through the green water, Alaina could see Kane sitting at a table with his wife and two others she didn’t recognize. “We’ll set them up while the King,” he spat, “is dancing his last dance. We’ll let them drink and dance and enjoy their last moments. When I pick someone to dance with, that will be our cue to leave,” he explained to the table. Then, in slow motion, his head swiveled to look directly at her as he said, “There will be nothing left.”

“Alaina!” another voice yelled for her from somewhere distant, and in the blink of an eye, she found herself lying on the dance floor with Mando’s concerned helmet swimming above her as he shook her shoulders.

“Vermilion fingertips,” her whispered words left her lips as she tried to process what she saw.

Mando flicked on a bright light and shone it directly into her eyes, making her hiss. She slammed her eyes closed, but he pried them back open. “Hey, are you with me?” he asked, fear evident in his voice as he held her head. “What happened? Did you have a vision?”

Alaina grimaced and nodded. She batted his hands away, and Mando flicked the light off but refused to let her go. The world around her moved slowly as if everyone was slow to move in the nonexistent green waters, as her mind attempted to reboot. Absently, she noted that she was on the ground with Mando kneeling on her left side and Rhoam kneeling on her right. She felt something wet on her face and was unsurprised that her nosebleed had returned with full force after her vision.

“Vermilion fingertips,” she murmured again, staring at her fingers.

“Alaina?” Mando questioned, but Alaina didn’t look at him.

Instead, she rolled her head to her left passed Mando to stare at the man hovering behind Mando.

Kane stood just behind Mando, looking concerned and confused after witnessing Alaina's episode. A small audience surrounded them, and several guards in turquoise robes kept the curious crowd back with their staffs.

Alaina locked eyes with Rhoam’s alleged friend, and Kane’s face became even more confused when he realized her attention was entirely on him now.

“There will be nothing left,” Alaina whispered. Her whispered words were quiet but loud enough for those near her to hear them. 

Including Kane.

The man’s eyes widened in shock as he realized she had repeated his words exactly—Words that Alaina should logically have no way of knowing.

“It’s him,” Alaina whispered, turning her panicked look to Mando. “It’s Kane. He’s done something.”

“Are you sure?” Mando questioned her, looking between her and the Duke.

Alaina nodded, “I don’t know exactly what, but whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it tonight.”

“Kane?” Rhoam’s voice asked as he looked at his friend. 

Kane scoffed, “Are you really going to listen to this madness? The woman is obviously ill or possessed.”

Rhoam looked torn as he looked between his friend and Alaina before his sights narrowed back on Kane. “As unbelievable as Alaina’s words may be, I still have to ask if they are true?” Kane’s face shifted, and Rhoam’s electric blue eyes flashed as he put the pieces together. “Is this true?” the King questioned, his words turning from shock to anger as he spoke.

Kane snarled, looking between her and the King with wide, feral eyes.

The crowd around them grew eerily quiet as they watched on. The rest of the room around her appeared to be moving normally, but Alaina felt as if she was frozen for a moment in time.

Mando turned to go after Kane, but the other man was already on the move. The Duke surprised the guard beside him, disarming the man and taking his spear for himself. The Duke spun the weapon with an experienced ease as he returned his furious look to Alaina, launching the weapon at her with a growl.

Alaina gasped and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the fatal blow.

In the span of only a second or two, her entire lifetime passed before her eyes.

Her mother was there. They were laughing together as they walked arm in arm back to their cozy apartment after one of her performances.

Mando coming back for her on Nevarro. How he refused to listen to her request to leave her behind and instead held out his hand for her to take before he repeated her words from years past to her, "A Mandalorian and a ballerina? They'll never see it coming."

Mando jumping into the lake with her in his arms.

Mando kissing her in the rain.

Alaina’s eyes opened in confusion when she heard the sound of people gasping around her.

The blow never came. 

She was alive.

Mando was leaning in front of her with his arm outstretched, yanking back on the whipcord he’d shot out of his vambrace. He’d managed to get the metal cord around Kane’s leg, taking the Duke to the ground.

Alaina stared at Mando as the tiny bubble of time she’d been trapped in seemed to fast forward until it caught up with them, and she watched in shock as Mando collapsed to the ground with the spear meant for her sticking out of his side.

“No!” she screamed as she shot up to inspect the damage.

The staff was firmly embedded into Din’s abdomen at just the right angle to avoid his armor. No. This couldn’t be happening. Hadn’t she just discovered that special spot back on the moon when she found that the imposing Mandalorian had a sensitive ticklish spot? Had that stubborn Tin Man taken a spear to his core for her?

“No,” she whispered as she watched his blood begin to seep and pool from the wound. In a panic, Alaina brought her hands up to try and apply pressure around the spear, attempting to keep the blood from flowing.

“Alaina,” Mando whispered, and her head shot to his helmet at the sound of his voice. “I—”

“No!” Alaina growled, cutting off whatever he was about to say. She was vaguely aware that she was crying as her cheeks felt wet, and she tried to shake her head, ignoring them. “Whatever you’re about to say, you can tell me later because this isn’t goodbye, do you understand me?” she demanded through her tears. “You stubborn, stubborn man,” she accused him. “Why did you do that?”

“Alaina,” Mando sighed, and when Alaina heard the slight slur in his voice, she looked down at the wound, and she sobbed when she saw his blood seeping through her fingers.

“Someone get some help!” she screeched, looking around at the circle of people gawking around them.

“Help is on the way,” Rhoam said, reassuring her by placing a hand on her shoulder. “Hang in there a little longer, my friend,” he pleaded with Mando.

Alaina returned her desperate look to Mando when she felt the string that tied them together dim.

She applied more pressure to the wound with her hands, forcing Din to grunt in pain. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she threatened through her tears. “You don’t get to just save me and make me… make me fall—”

“Alaina,” he whispered, silencing her with a weak hand on her forearm.

A flurry of activity from beyond the crowd distracted her from Mando. She sagged in relief when she saw Iris leaping down the staircase, barking orders, and having her guards clear a path for the medical personnel.

“Help is here. Okay? I need you to stay a stubborn man a little longer for me, okay?” she pleaded, nodding at him. “Don’t die. Please. Don’t leave me alone. We were going to go get my mom’s trunk, remember? And—and you promised me we would go back to our moon. Don’t leave me and Grogu,” she sobbed. “We need you.”

“Tranyc,” he rasped. “It’s okay,” he grunted and gripped her wrist tighter when Alaina frantically shook her head. She couldn’t help the sob that left her because this was the opposite of okay. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. “Let me see your eyes.”

Alaina thought she would crumble apart at his request but kept her eyes locked on his helmet, hoping he would see something in them that would keep him going. When the medical team finally arrived, they tried to pull her away from them, but she refused to leave Mando’s side. She shoved one of the people out of the way so she could kneel at Mando’s head and grip his helmet between her hands, staring intensely into the unforgiving beskar.

She imaged the dark brown eyes she saw on the young Din Djarin, but a little older and a little wiser, but no less, still kind, staring back at her, and she wished she could kiss him. Since she couldn’t kiss him, she leaned in to kiss the center of his helmet.

“Don’t let them remove my helmet,” he told her as her lips pressed to the silver helm. “Don’t let them remove my helmet,” he repeated, words becoming slower. 

Alaina nodded into his helmet, pressing another kiss to it before she was pulled away from her Mandalorian.

She watched helplessly as the medics used a floating gurney to lift Din’s body.

The world around her didn’t register. There was just her and Din. Everything faded as the invisible string, her special bond to Din, grew cold. For something they’d only shared for a handful of days, it felt as if their bond had been a part of her very soul for her entire life.

Someone new entered her private bubble with Din, breaking her concentration on the cord that bound them together. She watched numbly as Kane cut free of Din’s whipcord and scrambled to break away from the crowd, using their distraction to his advantage.

There will be nothing left.

In a moment of crystalizing clarity, Alaina knew what she had to do.

She wouldn’t allow this deceitful, wretched man to live while Din Djarin was dying or very possibly already dead.

Calmness washed over her as she locked on to Din’s attacker on the other side of the room.

“No,” she growled as the calmness was replaced with a rage she’d never felt before.

She would burn everything for Din Djarin.

Something constricted around her forearm, and Alaina's emerald eyes locked on to the vermilion ones of the red fanned rawl. The serpent hissed before lowering its head to spit at the Duke.

The rage flared inside of her, like a wildfire blossoming to life in the wind.

Her blood-curdling scream left her lungs, and all eyes in the room were on her, but her eyes were on him.

Somewhere, deep in her consciousness, she registered that people were screaming, and the lights flickered around her as glass rained from the ceiling, but she couldn’t be bothered with that at the moment.

She focused on Kane as the Duke stumbled just before reaching one of the servants’ doors and clutched his throat in alarm. She watched his wife rush to his side as her husband’s face turned red as he struggled to breathe.

With her eyes locked on Kane’s face, she felt pride as she watched it begin to turn an alarming shade of purple. So intent on him, she missed Iris Haze looking between her and the Duke, putting the pieces together, and then looking at Rhoam.

“Not like this, angel,” Rhoam whispered, gripping her shoulder. “We still need to know what he’s done. I need to know how to save my people.”

With a devastating final cry, Alaina released her hold on the Duke and collapsed into Rhoam’s arms. Exhaustion washed over her, but Rhoam’s arms supported her, preventing her from collapsing to the ground. When she looked down at her hands, she watched as blood dripped from her nose to her hands, which were still covered in Din’s blood.

“I give you my word that you can decide Kane’s fate once I know everyone is safe,” Rhoam muttered darkly, hugging Alaina tighter against his chest.

Alaina looked up from her hands and saw that Iris had Kane, his wife, and their entire party in cuffs with armed guards surrounding them. Kane was coughing and choking as he tried to gulp air down. As if sensing her eyes were on him, the Duke stared at her, eyes wide in terror as he tried to crawl away. He didn’t get very far before Iris stopped him by using her boot to step on his back and pin him in place.

“Come, angel,” Rhoam murmured, keeping his voice even and calm as he tugged her to follow him. “You need to be with Mando.”

She nodded and let Rhoam guide her as they followed after the medical team rushing out of the hall with Din on their gurney.

She didn’t register the silence that settled over the hall, or how the others in the hall all but ran from her, giving her a wide birth as she walked past them, or that Iris motioned for a handful of guards to follow them out of the room as they headed toward the med bay.

Alaina could only concentrate on the cold, empty feeling that had returned inside her chest. Not even the wildfire that had coursed through her veins minutes before could reignite their bond.

As she entered the med bay and watched them remove the spear from Din’s abdomen, she wondered if her physical heart would continue to beat if the metaphorical one stopped.

Author's Note #2: I would burn the world to bring some heat to you. - Hozier

Tag List: @racheldon @zenrobbins0021 @locked-ness @smoochispoof @hipcheckchick @dinispunkk @againstheodds

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Next chapter in series - Chapter 22: Vermilion (Coming Soon)