#RISING SUN ROCK FESTIVAL

[ladysbike]

RISING SUN ROCK FESTIVAL 2023 in EZO（以下、RSR）が2023年8月11日(金)、12日(土)の2日間、北海道で開催されます。今年で開催23回目となる、RSR。日本初のオールナイト野外ロックフェスとして1999年に第1回目を開催し、今では地元はもちろん全国から多くの音楽ファンが集まる定番の夏フェスとして成長しました♡　北海道の広大な自然と豪華アーティストのコラボレーションは何よりの見どころ。

https://www.l-bike.com/topics/40084/

[miharuakiyamadrawing]

[novaursa]

Legacy (dragonstone)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: The canon plot doesn't match the timeline of this story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: contingency

- Next part: of bloodline

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal

The air on Dragonstone was thick with the salt of the Narrow Sea, carried by the ever-present winds that swept over the volcanic cliffs. The castle stood stoic against the horizon, its black stone spires jagged and ancient, looming as a reminder of a time when dragons ruled the skies and their riders held the world in awe.

In one of the smaller courtyards, where the breeze was calmer and the sun bathed the stone with a golden glow, you sat with Damon. The boy, now walking on his own, toddled across the soft grass with surprising determination. His tiny hands reached for the wooden dragon toy you had set before him, and he squealed with delight as he gripped it, waving it triumphantly.

A faint smile touched your lips as you watched him, your heart full at the sight of his uncontainable joy. “Careful, little one,” you murmured, rising slightly from your seat to steady him as he wobbled.

Behind you, Jaime Lannister leaned against the stone railing of the terrace overlooking the courtyard. His golden hand rested lightly against the edge, the faint wind tousling his hair as he watched Damon with a faint, unreadable expression.

“You’re good with him,” Jaime said after a moment, his voice breaking the peaceful silence.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, your lips curving faintly. “He makes it easy. He’s a bright, happy boy.”

Jaime nodded, his gaze lingering on Damon as the child turned to you with a wide, toothy grin. “He’s strong,” Jaime said softly. “Like his mother.”

“And his father,” you added with a wry smile.

Jaime huffed a quiet laugh. “Yes, well, the Lion of Casterly Rock would never admit to anything less.” He pushed off the railing and moved closer, standing beside you as he continued to watch Damon toddle across the grass.

For a moment, there was silence, save for Damon’s delighted giggles as he waved his toy dragon in the air. Then, Jaime spoke again, his tone softer, more contemplative. “Do you remember that festival?”

You frowned faintly, glancing up at him. “Which festival?”

“All those years ago,” Jaime said, his green eyes distant as though looking through the fog of memory. “When King Aerys—your father—still sat the throne. The festival in honor of his reign, in King’s Landing.”

Your brows furrowed as you thought back, the faint recollection stirring something in your chest. “I remember,” you said slowly. “It was a grand affair, full of spectacle and excess. My father loved such displays.”

Jaime nodded, his expression shadowed. “It was more than that. He… ranted. You must remember. He spoke of fire, of dragons returning to the world. He was restless, agitated, but then—he said something else.”

“What did he say?” you asked, your voice careful, your gaze fixed on Jaime.

Jaime’s jaw tightened slightly, his golden hand flexing at his side. “He said, ‘The fire will come again, and with it, the one who will command it.’ At the time, we all thought it was just more of his madness. Another delusion.”

Your heart clenched faintly, unease settling in your chest. “And now?”

Jaime turned to look at you fully, his eyes focused. “Now I wonder if he saw something more than madness. Something connected to you… and Viserion.”

The name of the she-dragon hung heavy in the air, her presence felt even when she was not near. Damon let out a happy squeal as he tumbled into the grass, his tiny fists clutching the wooden dragon, oblivious to the weight of the conversation around him.

“You think my father saw this?” you asked softly, your voice laced with disbelief. “Viserion, Damon, me—do you believe he foresaw it?”

Jaime shrugged, though there was a stiffness in his posture that belied his nonchalance. “I don’t know what to believe. But the way he spoke that day, it wasn’t like the other times. There was something… different. Something almost lucid, as though he were speaking a truth he couldn’t fully understand.”

You exhaled slowly, your gaze dropping to Damon as he sat in the grass, happily babbling to himself. “He was a man consumed by fire and shadows,” you said quietly. “His mind was broken long before that festival. Perhaps he glimpsed something, or perhaps he was just lost in his own madness.”

Jaime studied you for a moment, his tone softening. “And yet, here we are. A dragon at your command, a son who carries both fire and a lion’s strength, and a husband who rules with an iron will. Tell me, Y/N, does it feel like coincidence?”

You hesitated, the question hanging heavy between you. Your thoughts drifted to your father’s descent, to the visions you had seen at the High Heart, to Viserion’s unexplainable bond with you.

“No,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t.”

Jaime nodded slowly, his gaze returning to Damon. “Then perhaps the Mad King wasn’t entirely mad. Perhaps he saw the fire in you, even then.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your thoughts too tangled to form words. Damon let out another delighted laugh, pulling your attention back to him. You knelt to scoop him up, holding him close as his tiny hands grasped at your hair, his innocent joy a balm against the heaviness in your chest.

“Whatever my father saw,” you said finally, your voice steady, “it doesn’t matter now. What matters is the future we shape for him”—you glanced at Damon—“and for the realm.”

Jaime watched you, his expression unreadable, though there was a faint trace of something like respect in his gaze. “Then let’s hope the fire that burns doesn’t consume us first.”

You nodded faintly, holding Damon close as you turned back toward the keep, the weight of Jaime’s words lingering in the air like the distant roar of a dragon.

The air inside the Dragonmont was oppressive, thick with heat and the faint metallic tang of sulfur. The torches along the stone walls flickered weakly, their light consumed by the vast shadow of Viserion, who lay coiled near the center of the chamber. Her cream-and-gold scales shone faintly in the low light, and her golden eyes followed every movement of the men below her with unnerving intensity.

The Lannister soldiers moved cautiously, hauling a fresh kill—an ox, its hide still streaked with blood—toward the she-dragon. The beast let out a low, rumbling growl, a sound that vibrated through the stone and sent shivers down the men’s spines. Her wings twitched slightly, a subtle reminder of her power, and her sharp claws scraped against the floor as she shifted her massive frame.

Tywin Lannister stood at a distance, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched the scene unfold. His expression was unreadable, though his posture betrayed his ever-present command. The men were careful, their movements precise, but Tywin’s presence alone was enough to ensure their discipline.

You entered the cavern quietly, your steps light on the stone floor. The heat wrapped around you like a heavy cloak, but your gaze was drawn immediately to Viserion. The she-dragon had grown since the last time you’d seen her fed—her body larger, her movements more deliberate, more dangerous.

“She’s grown,” you murmured as you approached Tywin’s side, your voice soft but steady.

Tywin glanced at you briefly before returning his gaze to the dragon. “As she should,” he replied. “A dragon that does not grow strong is a dragon that dies. She must be at her full strength if she is to deter our enemies.”

You studied Viserion, the flicker of fire deep within her throat visible as she sniffed the air, her growl growing louder. “Enemies… and other things,” you said quietly, your words laced with a deeper meaning.

Tywin’s sharp gaze flicked to you, his eyes narrowing slightly, though he said nothing. His silence, as always, carried weight.

Viserion let out a powerful roar, her wings unfurling slightly as the ox was finally dragged closer. The sound echoed through the cavern, sending the soldiers scrambling back, their faces pale as they retreated to a safer distance. The dragon lunged forward, her jaws snapping shut around the carcass with a sickening crunch.

Tywin turned from the scene, his expression composed as always, though there was a flicker of something colder in his eyes. “Come,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “This place is no setting for conversation.”

You followed him out of the Dragonmont, the cool night air beyond the entrance a welcome relief after the suffocating heat of the cavern. The stars above were scattered like shards of glass, and the faint crash of waves against the cliffs below filled the silence as Tywin led you back toward the castle.

When you reached the privacy of your chambers, Tywin’s demeanor shifted slightly. The sharp edges of his command softened as he turned to you, his gaze lingering as though weighing his words. “You’ve spent too much time with your visions,” he said at last, his tone low but steady. “Do not let them consume you.”

You met his gaze, your expression calm but firm. “And if they’re more than visions? If they’re warnings?”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, with deliberate precision, he reached out, his hands resting on your arms as he drew you closer. “Then we will face them, as we have faced everything else,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of reassurance.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. His arms wrapped around you with a firmness that was both protective and grounding, his strength a quiet anchor against the storm of uncertainty within you.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you filled only by the faint crackle of the hearth and the distant roar of the sea. Tywin’s hand brushed gently along your back, a rare gesture of affection that spoke volumes in its quiet simplicity.

“You are stronger than you realize,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your hair. “Do not let shadows take that from you.”

You looked up at him, your gaze steady as you reached up to touch his face, your fingers brushing lightly against the hard lines of his jaw. “And you are far more than the lion the world sees,” you murmured.

His expression softened, just barely, as he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. The weight of his presence, the solidity of his resolve, was a comfort unlike any other.

“Rest,” he said finally, his voice low but firm. “The world will demand enough of us come morning.”

And with that, he guided you toward the bed, his touch lingering as though he were reluctant to let you go, his rare moments of affection a reminder of the bond you had forged in fire and strength. Together, you faced the unknown, the weight of the realm and its secrets ever pressing—but for now, the shadows remained at bay.

The warmth of the hearth added to the quiet hum of the room, where the faint clinking of silverware and soft rustling of servants filled the silence. The table was modestly set compared to the grandeur of feasts, with fresh bread, fruit, and steaming plates of roasted fish caught from the Narrow Sea.

Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his posture as rigid and commanding as ever, even during the quiet of breakfast. A goblet of wine rested beside his plate, untouched as he meticulously cut into his food. His pale green eyes were focused, though his expression was calm.

You sat beside him, Damon in a high-backed chair beside you, babbling happily as he clumsily grasped at bits of soft bread and fruit laid out for him. His wide eyes sparkled with curiosity as he looked at you, giggling when you handed him a small piece of pear.

“You’re enjoying yourself this morning,” you said softly to Damon, your tone warm.

The boy responded with a delighted squeal, dropping the pear piece and reaching for it again with chubby fingers. Tywin glanced at the display briefly, his expression unreadable as always, though his gaze lingered on his son for a moment longer than necessary.

“He’s restless,” Tywin observed, his voice calm but deliberate. “Perhaps too much excitement yesterday.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from Damon’s face. “He’s a boy, Tywin. It’s his nature to be curious.”

Tywin inclined his head slightly, though his sharp gaze shifted back to you. “And what mischief are you planning to indulge him with today?”

The hint of humor in his tone wasn’t lost on you, and you arched a brow, setting down your goblet of water. “Not mischief,” you replied smoothly. “I’ve been thinking about taking him flying with me.”

Tywin’s knife paused mid-motion over his plate, his gaze snapping to yours with a sudden intensity. “Flying,” he repeated, his tone even but edged with a hint of skepticism. “With Viserion.”

“Yes,” you said, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “She is my dragon. She would never harm him. I’ve been considering it for some time now.”

Tywin set his utensils down carefully, folding his hands on the table as he regarded you. “Do you think it wise to place our son on the back of a dragon at his age? He is barely walking, let alone capable of understanding the dangers involved.”

You leaned forward slightly, your voice calm but firm. “It isn’t about understanding the dangers, Tywin. It’s about bonding with her. He carries the blood of the dragon, as I do. He should know her, and she should know him.”

Tywin’s brows furrowed faintly, his sharp gaze assessing you. “He is a child, not a rider. This is not a matter of blood; it is a matter of safety.”

“I know you think of everything in terms of risk and gain,” you countered softly, your tone measured, “but this is different. Viserion already watches him as if she understands. She’s part of his legacy, Tywin. Part of ours. If not now, then when?”

Tywin was silent for a long moment, his eyes unyielding as they searched yours. Damon, oblivious to the conversation between his parents, clapped his hands happily, the piece of pear forgotten as he babbled incoherently.

Finally, Tywin exhaled through his nose, his voice calm but laced with authority. “You are determined.”

“I am,” you replied firmly.

He glanced at Damon, who was now gnawing on a piece of bread, his tiny fingers sticky with fruit juice. Tywin’s expression softened ever so slightly, though his tone remained resolute. “If you insist on this, then you will take every precaution. The saddle must be secure, and the flight must remain low and brief. I will not risk his safety for sentiment.”

You inclined your head, a faint smile curving your lips. “I wouldn’t dream of being careless. Thank you, Tywin.”

Tywin picked up his goblet of wine, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “You would have done it regardless of my opinion.”

“Perhaps,” you said lightly, brushing Damon’s hair with your fingers. “But it’s easier when you agree.”

Tywin huffed faintly, though it wasn’t quite a laugh. He turned his attention back to his plate, though his gaze flicked occasionally to Damon, who continued to babble happily between bites.

As the morning light continued to fill the room, you felt a sense of anticipation building within you. Soon, Damon would take his first flight—not as a rider, not yet, but as part of something far greater.

And though Tywin’s stern presence remained a constant, you couldn’t ignore the faint glimmer of pride in his eyes as he watched his son, a lion born under the shadow of a dragon.

The warmth of the morning sun had given way to the cool shadows of the strategy chamber, where Tywin Lannister stood at a large table strewn with maps, missives, and sealed letters. A small brazier crackled in the corner, filling the room with the faint scent of smoke and iron. Varys, ever the picture of composed deference, stood a respectful distance away, his hands folded neatly in his flowing robes.

You lingered near the door, Damon balanced on your hip. His tiny hands were clutching the edge of your gown, his head resting against your shoulder as he dozed lightly after his morning meal. The room was quieter than usual, save for the occasional flick of paper or the soft scrape of Tywin’s quill against parchment.

Varys’s voice broke the silence, smooth and measured. “The Greyjoys have been notably restless in the past moons, my lord. Euron Greyjoy, in particular, has made waves. Rumors of his ventures to the east—exotic ships, dangerous alliances. I would advise keeping an eye on them.”

Tywin, who had been scanning a missive, did not look up. “The Greyjoys are a rabble, more pirate than ruler. They’ll amount to little unless someone more competent than Balon leads them.”

“Indeed,” Varys replied, his tone calm but pointed. “And yet, a rabble left unchecked can turn into a storm. Euron is ambitious, and ambition, as you know, can be as dangerous as fire.”

Tywin set the missive down and glanced at Varys. “I will not waste resources chasing rumors across the sea. If they dare bring trouble to Westeros, they will be dealt with.”

“As you say, my lord,” Varys said with a faint smile, inclining his head. “But it is often the smallest ripples that precede the greatest waves.”

Tywin’s expression remained impassive as he returned his attention to the documents before him. “Is that all?”

“For now,” Varys said, his pale eyes flickering briefly toward you and Damon. “Though I must commend Lady Y/N’s skill in diplomacy. The whispers from King’s Landing suggest her presence has quelled some of the more… vocal concerns.”

Your lips curved faintly, though you remained quiet, gently rocking Damon as he stirred against your shoulder. Tywin offered no response to Varys’s observation, his focus firmly on the papers before him.

With a final bow, Varys excused himself, gliding out of the room like a shadow.

The silence that followed was broken only by the faint crackle of the brazier and Damon’s soft breathing. You moved to a nearby chair, settling Damon down gently on your lap as he continued to doze. His tiny hand curled against your sleeve, and you smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

Tywin’s voice, calm but unexpectedly casual, cut through the quiet. “Do you want another child?”

You blinked, startled by the abruptness of the question. “What?”

Tywin didn’t look up, his eyes scanning a document in his hand. “Another child,” he repeated, his tone as matter-of-fact as if he were discussing troop movements. “Do you want one?”

You tilted your head, studying him carefully. “That’s a sudden question.”

Tywin finally set the document down, turning his gaze to you. His expression remained calm, though there was a flicker of something thoughtful in his eyes. “It’s a practical consideration. Damon is strong, but the realm’s future depends on legacy. Strength comes from numbers, especially in uncertain times.”

You glanced down at Damon, your fingers brushing over his tiny hand. “He is still so young, Tywin. I’m not sure I’m ready to think about another child so soon.”

Tywin’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “The decision is yours, but you should consider it. Our enemies grow bolder with each passing moon. A strong line ensures stability.”

You met his gaze, your voice calm but steady. “And what of love, Tywin? Do you want another child, or do you only want to strengthen the family name?”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, though there was a pause before he spoke. “I want what is best for the realm. And for you.”

You tilted your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Sometimes, I wonder if you truly believe those two things can coexist.”

“They can,” he replied without hesitation. “When guided correctly.”

You sighed softly, turning your attention back to Damon, who stirred slightly in your lap. “I will think about it.”

Tywin inclined his head, as if satisfied with your answer, before returning his attention to the documents before him. But as he worked, his gaze flickered toward you and Damon more than once, the faintest trace of something unspoken lingering in his expression.

For now, the conversation was left hanging in the air, but the weight of it remained—a reminder of the delicate balance you both walked between duty and desire, between family and legacy.

The sky over Dragonstone was a perfect shade of blue, unmarred by clouds, with the salty wind sweeping in from the Narrow Sea. The sun hung high, casting light across the black stone of the ancient Targaryen keep. In the sprawling courtyard near the cliffs, a gathering of lords and ladies, along with Tywin Lannister and his retainers, stood in anticipation.

Viserion, the great she-dragon, loomed nearby. She stretched her wings wide, the movement sending a rush of air through the gathered crowd. The beast stood at the edge of the cliff, her massive frame poised as though she were preparing to leap into the sky. Her eyes followed every movement, every sound, her watchful gaze sharp as a blade.

You stood beside her, dressed in a riding gown reinforced with leather, your hair flowing freely in the breeze. At nearly two years old, Damon stood beside you, his chubby hands clutching at the edge of your cloak. His bright eyes were wide with curiosity, darting between you and Viserion as though he already understood the gravity of what was about to happen.

“Are you ready, my love?” you murmured to him, brushing a strand of his hair back. Damon responded with an excited squeal, his tiny hands reaching toward Viserion as though he could already claim the skies.

From a distance, Tywin watched, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes followed every movement with an intensity that left no room for doubt—he was scrutinizing everything, from your placement on the saddle to the way Viserion shifted her weight in response to your touch.

“Is it wise, my lord?” one of the visiting lords asked, his tone carrying a note of skepticism. “The boy is so young…”

Tywin’s gaze did not waver from you and Damon as he replied, his voice cold and resolute. “My son is a Targaryen as much as a Lannister. It is his birthright to know dragons.” He paused, his tone sharpening. “And his mother would not risk him lightly.”

The lord hesitated, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to press further under Tywin’s glare.

Nearby, Jaime Lannister leaned casually against a stone railing, watching the scene with mild curiosity. “You almost sound proud, Father,” he said, his voice low enough to be for Tywin alone. “A lion embracing the fire of Valyria.”

Tywin shot Jaime a stern look but said nothing, his focus returning to you as you adjusted the straps of the saddle on Viserion’s back.

You turned, carefully lifting Damon into the special riding harness you had commissioned for him. It secured him snugly against your chest, leaving your arms free to guide Viserion’s reins. The little boy laughed, wriggling with excitement as you climbed into the saddle, your movements practiced and sure.

“Easy now,” you murmured to Viserion, patting her side. The she-dragon rumbled in response, her body shifting slightly as she adjusted to your weight. Her massive head turned, one golden eye watching you as though awaiting your command.

From the cliff’s edge, Tywin’s voice carried over the wind. “Keep her low,” he called, his tone sharp. “No unnecessary risks.”

You glanced back at him, offering a faint smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Viserion let out a low growl, her wings extending fully as she began to crouch. Damon giggled again, his tiny hands reaching out as though he could grasp the sky itself. The crowd murmured nervously, several of the ladies clutching their cloaks as the dragon’s powerful muscles coiled in preparation.

With a single, mighty leap, Viserion launched herself into the air.

The force of her takeoff sent a rush of wind through the courtyard, scattering dust and causing the gathered lords and ladies to shield their faces. Tywin remained unmoving, his gaze following the dragon as she ascended into the sky.

Viserion’s wings beat powerfully, the sound like distant thunder as she soared upward. You guided her carefully, keeping the flight low and steady, circling the cliffs of Dragonstone. Damon’s laughter rang out like music, his joy uncontainable as he looked out over the vast expanse of sea and sky.

“Do you see, Damon?” you said softly, your voice carrying over the rush of wind. “This is what it means to be part of something greater. To touch the skies, to feel the fire in your blood.”

Viserion rumbled beneath you, her body moving with an ease that spoke of the bond you shared. The dragon’s eyes flicked back toward Damon, her gaze almost protective as she continued her steady flight.

From the courtyard, Tywin watched with a sharp eye, his expression unreadable. One of the retainers ventured to speak. “It’s… remarkable, my lord. To see them like this. The boy will grow into a legend.”

“He’ll grow into a man first,” Tywin replied coldly, though there was a faint flicker of pride in his tone. “Legends are only worth what they can achieve.”

Jaime smirked faintly. “And what about her?” he asked, nodding toward you and Viserion. “Your wife is already a legend.”

Tywin didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the dragon as she glided effortlessly through the sky. Finally, he said, “She’s my wife. That’s all that matters.”

As Viserion began her descent, the crowd murmured with awe, the unease in the air palpable as the dragon circled once more before landing gracefully on the cliff’s edge. The force of her wings stirred the air, sending cloaks billowing as you dismounted with practiced ease.

Damon was still laughing as you lifted him from the harness, his tiny hands reaching for Viserion as though he couldn’t bear to leave her side. You kissed his head, your heart full as you turned to face Tywin.

He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over you both with quiet intensity. “You’ve made your point,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind. “He will know his legacy.”

“And he will be stronger for it,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze.

Tywin nodded once, his expression softening for the briefest of moments before he turned back to the waiting lords and ladies. Behind him, Viserion let out a low rumble, her eyes watching over you and Damon with a presence that felt almost… maternal.

The crowd began to disperse, the awe of the moment lingering in their whispers, but you stayed rooted where you were, your son cradled in your arms and the dragon at your back.

The cold wind whistled through the Wall, carrying with it the icy bite of the north. Castle Black stood as resolute as ever, its black stone walls a stark contrast against the endless white expanse beyond. The fires in the courtyard burned low, sending thin streams of smoke into the sky, their warmth doing little to stave off the relentless chill.

Jon Snow, now the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, stood in the common hall with Samwell Tarly, a mug of warmed ale clasped in his gloved hands. The room was sparse, lit by a few flickering torches, their flames casting long shadows over the rough-hewn wooden tables.

Sam sat across from him, bundled in layers to ward off the cold, his face pink from the wind. He was speaking animatedly, as he often did when his curiosity got the better of him, though Jon’s expression remained as stoic as ever.

“You must’ve heard by now,” Sam said, his tone hushed but excited, as though speaking of something forbidden. “About her. About… the dragon.”

Jon raised a brow, sipping his ale. “All of Westeros has heard, Sam.”

Sam leaned forward, his eyes wide with wonder. “Your mum. She has a dragon. Can you imagine? I mean, she raised you, taught you the ways of Winterfell, and now she rides a dragon. It’s… incredible.”

Jon’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “She’s not my mother, not by blood.”

“Not by blood, no,” Sam agreed, waving his hand dismissively. “But in every other way that matters, she is. She raised you, didn’t she? Taught you to be honorable, like your father—like Ned Stark.”

Jon nodded, his expression softening. “She did. She was always there, even when I wasn’t easy to deal with. She never made me feel like a burden.”

Sam tilted his head, a curious smile playing on his lips. “And now she rides a dragon. A dragon, Jon. Can you imagine? What’s it like, knowing your mum commands something so… so legendary?”

Jon’s gaze drifted to the mug in his hands, his voice quiet but steady. “I don’t know. It’s strange. I remember her teaching me to care for the direwolves when we first found them. She told me to respect their wildness, their strength. Maybe it’s not so different with dragons.”

Sam let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Not so different, he says. A wolf’s one thing, but a dragon? Jon, that’s a creature of fire and fury. It could burn armies to ash.”

“She wouldn’t let it,” Jon said firmly, meeting Sam’s gaze. “She’s not like that. She’s… measured. Careful.”

Sam nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Still, it must be something. To know she’s out there, riding a dragon like the Targaryens of old. Like… like she’s from a story.”

Jon let out a faint huff of laughter, though there was no humor in it. “She always said dragons were more than fire. That they were a symbol of strength, of something ancient.” His voice softened, and he added, “I never thought I’d see the day she’d have one of her own.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he studied Jon. “Do you think she’s happy? I mean, with all of it—being tied to a dragon, to… to the Lannisters.”

Jon hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. She’s always done what she thought was best—for her, for her family. If she made that choice, it’s because she believed it was the right one.”

Sam nodded, though his expression remained contemplative. “And you? How does it feel, knowing she’s out there, riding a dragon, shaping the world in ways we can’t even imagine?”

Jon leaned back slightly, his gaze distant as though looking beyond the walls of Castle Black. “It feels… strange. Like the world’s moving faster than I can keep up with. But if anyone can tame a dragon and still hold onto who they are, it’s her.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. Finally, Sam spoke, his tone quieter now. “She’d be proud of you, you know. Of what you’ve done here.”

Jon glanced at him, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Maybe. But I think she’d still tell me to stay out of trouble.”

Sam chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “That sounds like her.”

Jon’s smile faded as his thoughts drifted again, his mind filled with images of dragons, fire, and the woman who had been a mother to him in all the ways that mattered. Somewhere out there, beyond the Wall and the reach of the Night’s Watch, she was riding a beast of legend, carrying the weight of her choices and her legacy.

Sam leaned forward, his elbows resting on the worn wooden table, his curiosity etched into his round face. “Jon,” he began hesitantly, his voice softer now, “didn’t you say… when you were beyond the Wall, nearly a year ago—you thought you saw her?”

Jon stiffened slightly, his gaze dropping to the mug of ale in his hands. The memory stirred something uneasy within him, something he hadn’t fully allowed himself to confront. “I thought I did,” he said finally, his voice low, distant. “But it wasn’t… clear.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? What did you see?”

Jon exhaled slowly, setting the mug down on the table as his hands rested flat against the wood. His eyes were shadowed, the weight of his recollection pressing heavily on his shoulders. “It was like a specter,” he said, his voice steady but laced with uncertainty. “Like she was there—but then she wasn’t. Like something from a dream.”

Sam straightened slightly, his curiosity piqued. “But it was her? You’re certain?”

Jon hesitated, his jaw tightening as he thought back to that moment. The icy winds of the far north, the endless expanse of white, the shadows that moved at the edges of his vision. And then… her. Or what he thought was her.

“She was hurt,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “There was blood. And her face… it looked like her, but different. As if the cold had reached inside her and—” He stopped, shaking his head. “It didn’t feel real. It felt like… like she was a memory trying to take shape.”

Sam leaned back, his expression contemplative. “A specter,” he repeated, his voice thoughtful. “The north is full of strange things, Jon. Ghosts, shadows, things that shouldn’t be. But if it was her—if even a part of her was there—maybe there’s something more to it.”

Jon glanced at Sam, his dark brows drawing together. “What are you saying, Sam?”

Sam shrugged slightly, though his tone remained serious. “Maybe there’s a reason you saw her. A connection. You said she raised you, taught you everything you know. Maybe that bond runs deeper than we understand.”

Jon frowned, his gaze drifting to the fire as he considered Sam’s words. “I don’t know, Sam. It felt… wrong. Like she wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“But what if she was?” Sam pressed gently. “What if she was trying to protect you? To warn you?”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his thoughts turning over the possibilities. The memory of her face, pale and distant, haunted him still. He had dismissed it at the time, chalking it up to exhaustion, to the tricks the north could play on a man’s mind. But now, with Sam’s words stirring doubts, he wasn’t so sure.

“If it was her,” Jon said slowly, his voice heavy, “then she was in pain. She didn’t speak. She just… looked at me. Like she was trying to tell me something, but she couldn’t.”

Sam’s expression softened, his gaze steady on Jon. “Do you regret not going after her?”

Jon shook his head, his voice firm. “There was nothing to go after. She was there, and then she wasn’t. Like a shadow disappearing in the light.”

The room fell into silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Sam fidgeted with the edge of his cloak, his thoughts clearly racing, while Jon stared into the fire, his expression unreadable.

Finally, Sam broke the quiet. “If it was her, Jon… maybe it’s not too late to find out why. Maybe she’s still connected to you, somehow.”

Jon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the flames. The thought of her—of the woman who had been his mother in every way but blood—lingering out there, tied to him in ways he couldn’t comprehend, sent a shiver down his spine.

“I don’t know what it means, Sam,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if she’s out there, I hope she’s safe. That’s all I can hope for.”

Sam nodded, his expression thoughtful but filled with quiet determination. “Then maybe the north isn’t done with her yet. Or with you.”

Jon didn’t answer, the firelight flickering in his eyes as his mind drifted back to that frozen moment beyond the Wall, to the specter of the woman who had given him strength when he had none. And though he didn’t say it aloud, a part of him wondered if he would ever see her again—not as a shadow, but as the woman she truly was.

[otakubimbo]

The Rabbit and The Wolf

Feelings & Fireworks

It’s the day of the festival and you don’t know what to feel. Do you love him, do you love him not

Ch 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

master list

Your eyes are open before the sun, your body stilling as you remember the state you were in the last time you woke up. The warmth from the bed was missing, unfortunately even if you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Last night was the best sleep you had in years, he had brought you so much comfort, so much relaxation. Sighing internally, not knowing exactly where to go from here, knowing that you would eventually have to face your own feelings. There was still one more night of having to share a bed with Kakashi, how were you going to do that with everything going on in your mind, in your heart.

With a groan, you rise out of the formerly shared bed. It was time for your comfort to be over and get ready for the day. The festival was today, and you were going to make sure all the kids had a fun time. It would be nice to see someone get to enjoy their youth for once. After casually dressing, you make your way to Team 7's room. It was still early so you hoped someone would be up, and by someone, you meant Sasuke so you could shove his head in the dirt. Luckily for you when you knocked on the door a sleepy Sasuke answered.

“Ah, just the knucklehead I wanted to see” you smile before grabbing him by the ear and dragging him out. His ‘ows’ repeated as you dragged him down the hall to take a walk outside.

“Stop dragging me” his complaints fall on deaf ears as you drag him outside.

“Listen up brat, don’t you ever do anything like that again.” You say flustered once outside.

“So did you finally ki- “Sasuke couldn’t finish before you knocked him on the head. He rubs the now-forming bump on top of his head. “What was that for?!”

“For meddling and talking too much.” You grumble, crossing your arms, a bit embarrassed. He was just like a little brother, a brat.

“I was just trying to help,” he says, still rubbing his head.

“No one asked for your help, Sasu,” you say resisting the urge to bop him again, jumping towards him as he flitches.

“I know but still.”

“Still nothing, stay out of grown folk business.”

“sorry” his muffled voice came.

You sigh at him, placing your hands on your hips before ruffling his hair. As always, he was incredibly embarrassed by that. Unfortunately, you couldn’t talk to your sister or your friend, so you had to get your thoughts out to someone.

“He did say he was in love with me,” you say as you lean on the wall behind you, avoiding his eyes.

“Is that why you disappeared?” Sasuke tries to gauge your reaction, hoping to not get another thump on the head.

“Possibly.” You reply, still avoiding the young man's gaze, “But like I said before, it’s complicated.” You sigh, before looking at him.

“Everything is complicated”

“Yeah, everything is complicated.” You are avoiding his gaze yet again, looking up to the sky.

“I think you may be making it complicated.” He remarks mainly to the air instead of directed at you.

You exhale deeply, “maybe.”

There was silence between the two of you until it was broken by Kakashi’s voice.

“You two the only ones up?” He asks walking up with a bag in hand, still with one of his perv books in the other.

“Yeah, last time I checked. Those idiots sleep like rocks.” Sasuke said casually, as if you two weren’t just talking about the man walking up now. There was a hesitation in looking at him from you, but you could feel him glancing at you while he talks to Sasuke about how the night went and the plans for the day. Every time your gaze falls on him, all you can think of is waking up entangled in him and your heart beating dangerously fast.

“I think I’m going to go back to the room.” You say before scurrying off, while they were in mid conversation about today’s plans. The two of them watched you quickly walk away from them, Sasuke looking up at Kakashi to see his expression.

“Don’t break her heart.” Sasuke says to the older man, turning his attention back to your fleeting form. Kakashi looks down at him, confused. “She feels the same if you couldn’t tell. I saw you two the other day, outside the hospital.”

Kakashi was a bit embarrassed that someone else also said his rejection and your disappearing act. He decides to stay silent, not trying to acknowledge his downfall.

“And she told me what you said.” Sasuke starts casually, looking at Kakashi, “She says things are complicated, I don’t really know what she meant by that but that’s not really for me to figure out I guess.”

“OH,” Kakashi says thoughtfully, now understanding your behavior more.

“Just don’t tell her I told you, she’d kill me. “The boy says before stuffing his hands in his pockets and starting to walk back to his own room. He left his sensei there to be with his thoughts, the bag of pastries in the bag he was holding getting cold. Kakashi was surprised that you confided in Sasuke about his feelings, but it seemed like your sister's words. To him, you may love him, you just were scared, which was fair so that meant he possibly had a chance to change your mind. He was a coward once; he wasn’t about to be one again.

Back in the room, you were in the shower, trying to calm your heart and mind. The things that man does to your head. You aggressively wash your body to distract yourself from your own thoughts. Hearts were such fickle things, and you had no clue what was going on with yours. If it wasn’t obvious, you didn’t know what to do with yours, it had already been damaged once by this man and you didn’t want it damaged again. But he said he loved you; he was in love with you, and you were…... well you weren’t sure what you were.

When you exit the bathroom, Kakashi is still not in the room. You exhaled a sigh of relief at that, you weren’t ready to face him yet. There did seem to be a note on the table that was there along with a coffee, which you picked up reading. The note read, ‘I took the team to do some festival preparations for tonight. The coffee is for you, I think it’s just as you like it.’ As you put it down, you picked up the coffee taking a small sip of it, and it was perfect just the way you loved it. It was sweet but just bitter enough that it kept that coffee taste, he remembered. That feeling made you smile a little to yourself, a sign of his love for you.

You spend the time without the team and Kakashi, relaxing and getting ready for the festival. After last night, you decided that you would confess that you feel the same way about the man you shared a room with last night. The preparation for the night included shaving, skincare, and making sure your kimono was perfect. Luckily for you, your hair was already in a protective style so that was one last thing on the ‘everything shower’ list. Since completing all your body tasks, you went to get yourself a little sake to calm your nerves for the night. You found a small store selling drinks and some other festival items.

“Welcome, how can I help you today?” the shopkeeper asks you as you enter the little shop.

“HI, yes, I was looking for some sake.” You answered with a shy smile, you were extremely nervous.

“Oh, is this for a special occasion besides the festival? You seem a little flustered. A mister caught your eye?” The woman behind the counter teases you.

“Something like that,” you say as you play with your fingers nervously and the older woman chuckles at you while shuffling to find you something that must have come to her mind. She pulls a bottle from the back of a shelf.

“Now this is incredibly smooth and a relaxing, calming drink.” She says without even telling you the price, wrapping it up for you. Before you could ask anything, she pulled out a smaller vial of something from under the counter, “And now this, this is a bit of liquid courage, which seems like you need. Am I right?”

“Yeah. Thanks” You mumble, feeling your whole body heat up at the thoughts. You reach into your pocket to pull out your wallet when the old lady stops you.

“Oh no, these are on the house, dear.” She states putting the items in a bag and pushing it towards you. You attempt to argue with her about needing to pay and she refuses. “I make more than enough to sustain during this season. Please just take it.” You sigh in defeat, taking the bag from the older woman, and bowing a thank you.

You put the smaller bottle of “liquid courage” in your personal bag, holding the other bottle in the bag as you make your way back to the inn. It was finally a good time to start getting ready, hopefully, Kakashi was already ready or at least not in the room. Unfortunately for you, not only was he there but he wasn’t even close to being dressed still in his casual outfit.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly entering the seemingly smaller room. He nods back at you, gesturing to the bag in your hand. “Oh, I just got some sake for tonight, the shopkeeper gave it to me for free. You wouldn’t even believe it.”

“Ha, you threaten her or something” He jokes and your cheeks puff at him.

“NO!” You huffed putting the bottle on the table on the wall. “She said she makes enough money during this time and that I looked like I needed it.”

“Are you nervous about something?” He questioned taking a tentative step towards you, which made you automatically turn from facing him.

“NO! she said I looked stressed, that’s all.” You fidget with the bottle in your hand, still not facing him yet, pouring two shots for the two of you. “Here” you shove the cup into his hand. He raises an eyebrow at you.

“We are not getting drunk, a few shots of sake never hurt anyone.” You comment, a small smile on your face that Kakashi couldn’t deny making him flustered.

“Fine” He relents, clinking his cup against yours. A bigger smile spreads on your face as you down the shot back without a second thought, as Kakashi does the same.

“See not that bad!” You could feel the warmth of the liquor in your body, licking the remnants of the shot from your lips. Kakashi stilled at the sight of you doing that, he could feel the blood rushing to a certain area of his body. You cocked your head to the side in confusion from his silence which just made him tense even more, his face starting to burn.

“Yeah, not bad” He coughs as if he might be choking. You just chuckle while putting your cup down.

“Well, I should probably start getting ready.” You are still chuckling at him while you make your way to the bathroom. The shopkeeper was right, you were going to need some liquid courage because you don’t even know how you get a clear head when talking to him just then. As you close the door behind you, you fish the special drink out of your bag, clutching the vial in your hand, and you pop the top of it. At no point did you even think about the consequences of drinking this vial, didn’t even check to see exactly what it was but you down it anyway. You doubted it would be able to kill you anyway, you’ve downed your fair share of poisons and right now you were going to do anything not to think about the possibilities of tonight.

After your shower, you felt a bit more refreshed, lightheaded even but in a good way even a bit giggly. Whatever was in that drink you took was putting you into a positive mood, you almost couldn’t stop giggling to yourself. Tonight was going to be fun; you were going to let yourself enjoy life for once. Your hair was done simply, half up, half down, a cute little bun in the back. You went with a basic makeup look also, it was going to be dark after all, no need to go all out. Your eyeshadow matched your yukata, a midnight blue color, placed below your water line and on your lash line, it made your eyes pop. You were almost finished, you just needed a little help getting your yukata tied, leaving the bathroom in a small fit of giggles.

Immediately Kakashi’s face moves to yours as he hears the lightness in your voice, which he hasn’t heard in years.

“Kashi” You start, walking out of the bathroom and trying your best to tie yourself up. “Can you help me? I just can’t get my fingers to work it seems.”

The man before you was frozen, the way you looked so cute yet disheveled in your yukata, the light finally returning to your eyes, you were glowing, magnificent to him. The sight was so domestic, a life that he craved, from you. Images of a possible life with you flooded his head and heart, hearing the giggle in your voice felt like a drug to him right then, the idea of being the reason your yukata was disheveled instead of your inability to tie it yourself. Your confused voice calling out his name, finally snapped him out of his daydream.

“Are you gonna help me?” You questioned, a cute tilt to your head as you still try to fumble with it yourself.

“Oh yeah,” He stutters getting up to come behind you, helping you tie yourself up. He inhaled your scent deeply, even more intoxicating than just the sight of you, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla filling his nostrils. The amount of willpower it took from him to not bury his face into the crook of your neck.

You spin facing him once he finishes his work, “Thanks.” You beam up at him, the mystery drink you had making you feel so warm and excited. “So…. How do I look?” You ask before giving him a simple twirl.

“Almost perfect,” He remarks before turning to grab something, while you look at him confused.

“Almost?”

“Almost.” He responds, pulling out a delicate silver flower pin. It was absolutely beautiful and intricate, with tiny flowers and vines scattered with small crystals.

“Oh my. Kashi, this is beautiful.” You say taking the fragile pin into your hands. “You got this for me?”’

“Yeah, no big deal.” He says casually, although it wasn’t casual at all. He was searching everywhere today for something for you and when he spotted the pin, he knew he had to get it for you. Intricate and beautiful, just like you. Gently, he takes the pin from your hands, reaching behind you to place it in your bun. You could feel his warm breath in your ear, and it sent an immediate shiver down your spine, having to force yourself not to let any noises escape your mouth.

He backed away after placing it in your hair, not too far but too close, dangerously close. “Now, perfect.”

“Thank you” you exhale not even realizing you were holding your breath. You looked up at him, starry-eyed, this was bad, bad. His face started falling towards yours, but to your surprise, you couldn’t move. You were going to let him kiss you, you wanted him to kiss you and your eyes started fluttering shut as you began to lean up to him. Before the gap could be closed, there was a bang at the door, Naruto of course.

“Y/N-sensei, Kakashi-sensei?! You ready to go?!” Naruto yells from outside the door, you take a huge step back while Kakashi sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, just give us a second” you yell back at him, going to get your shoes, avoiding the man's gaze on you slipping them on before grabbing another shot of sake. Luckily, you were still feeling light and airy from the mystery drink which calmed your nerves so easily. After your shot, you pour one for the man, handing it to him with a smile.

“Come on old man, let's live a little”

And who was he to ever deny you, especially with the way you were smiling at him now. The way you were going to let him have you just then, the thought of feeling your body under his again. Maybe he would have two more, taking the cup from your hand grazing your fingers gently before downing it and pouring him another.

“Okay okay, maybe you’re not that old after all.” You joke, grabbing his hand knowing Naruto didn’t have a patient bone in his body. Kakashi was taken aback by the gesture, but he wasn’t going to show it and just let you pull him out of the room.

“Wow, Y/N-sensei you look so pretty!” Naruto exclaims as you exit the room.

“Well thank you Naruto, I do clean up nice sometimes.” You ruffle his hair at his compliment.

“Definitely only sometimes.” Sasuke remarks under his breath and you elbow him in the ribs.

“Brat”

“How do I look Y/N-sensei?” Sakura asks shyly, getting your attention. She was dressed in an adorable yukata that resembled her name.

“Absolutely stunning” You comment, giving her a little boop on the nose. She glowed under your approval, hoping that it would do good to get Sasuke’s attention which you noticed. “Don’t you agree Sasu?”

“Hmph” He snorts, and you elbow him again. “Yeah, I guess.”

You could tell Sakura was doing her best to hold on to her composure at getting a compliment from Sasuke. And you could only stifle your giggles so much from the scene. Your little group left the inn to attend the festival activities held outside. It was completely beautiful outside. Lanterns hanging from all the shops along with different colored lights. The streets were bustling with people, almost overly crowded yet everyone was in light spirits. Food and game stalls were everywhere, there was no clue where to start first truly. You reach into your pocket pull out some money and hand it to Sakura.

“I can trust you with this right Sakura?” You ask, putting the bag of money in her hand.

“Yes ma’am” She nods putting it in your pocket.

“Great” you clap your hands together, “Yall have fun, we can meet before the fireworks.”

And with that, they go run off, well Naruto and Sakura run off while Sasuke walks behind them, to do whatever they want with the money you gave them. You giggle as you watch them.

“They’re good kids” you mention as you and Kakashi walk side by side.

“Yeah, nothing like us back then. We were hell.” He chuckles beside you.

“We?! Absolutely not, Kashi. I have always been a saint, I was perfect.” You giggle knowing damn well that wasn’t the truth, especially when you were with him. The two of you together were demons, too serious yet too reckless. Just two kids trying to figure shit out the wrong way. You with your smart mouth and Kakashi with his even worse attitude, young and powerful.

Kakashi snorts, “You literally cussed out the Hokage before, two of them!”

“I was just standing my ground, actually.”

“You told the 3rd to go to hell.” He reminds.

“And I stand on that, in the moment.” Crossing your arms defensively.

“Which is why he didn’t let you go on missions for a month.”

“WHICH is why I stood on that.” You shove him with your shoulder. “As if you were any better, you always had such a bad attitude and a scowl on your face. Some would find that off-putting.”

“You never felt that way.” He comments.

“And that’s not the point. Plus, they kept sticking us on missions together, so I just had to get used to you, ya know.”

“A force to be reckoned with.” He breathes out, reminiscing on your past adventures. You fall into a comfortable silence as you both take in the sights of the festival, your body heating up from the drinks you had earlier, finally starting to feel it. Unconsciously, your body leans more into Kakashi feeling his warmth against your skin. It wasn’t until you caught wind of something delicious and sweet in the air did you moved from his side, your eyes scanning to find the source of the smell. AH HA. You spot the dango stand, lacing your arm through Kakashi’s, and you pull him towards the stand. You hadn’t had dango in forever and it smelled delectable.

“Two please?” You request, about to go into your pocket to pay when Kakashi’s hand is already handing money over, waiting for you to take the sticks. You take the sticks, thanking the lady at the stand.

“What a good boyfriend you have.” She comments with a wink, you just laugh.

“He’s alright,” you say awkwardly, taking a dango into your mouth, as the older woman laughs at you while you allow Kakashi to pull you away. “Don’t say anything, it would have been rude to correct her.” You scold him before he could even say anything, even though you didn’t unlink your arms.

“I wasn’t even going to say anything” He jokes, feeling his chest tighten at the thought.

“Sure,” you say taking another bite. “I could have paid myself.”

“You could of,” he says casually as he pulls his arm closer to his body which pulls you closer to him, you don’t move back.

The two of you continued enjoying the rest of the festival with Kakashi buying you more snacks that you sniffed out, even winning you a prize at one of the stalls. A stuffed wolf. You were enjoying this, enjoying being with Kakashi like this. It wasn’t like when you were younger and would hang out like friends. This felt intimate, almost like a date but of course, it wasn’t. In the back of your mind, you remember how he said that he was in love with you but now he was just acting so casually as if nothing had changed. Yes, he did almost kiss you earlier today but still, a girl sometimes has her doubts.

Truthfully, you were more scared of your feelings than his, afraid that you were also in love with him, but you didn’t even know what that meant. All of this was a first for you because of course you’ve been in relationships and liked people, but you’ve never been in love. Especially being in love with your best friend, one of the few people you have left in your life that you just got back.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed you and Kakashi stopped walking. He said your name quietly, gently turning your head to face him making you snap out of your thoughts.

“You okay?” He asked concern written all over your face at your sudden mindlessness. His fingers felt like they were burning under your chin. You squeeze the wolf closer to you, taking in the features of his face before you sigh nodding.

“Yeah, I’m fine” You attempt to laugh it off. “Just haven’t been to a festival in so long, ya know” He seems to believe your excuse, releasing your face and picking up two baskets you don’t even remember acquiring.

“Alright, well the team said they found the best spot to watch the fireworks.”

“Oh great” You smile up at him and the worried lines on his face soften. The two of you walk to a place that seems far away from the actual festival, a mostly abandoned hill that’s just outside the festival area. Your eyes scan around for the team, spotting them almost immediately Naruto waving frantically.

“y’all been having fun?” You ask as the two of you walk up to them, Kakashi handing them one of the baskets that Sasuke takes.

“Yes, but Naruto kept losing money on games” Sakura pouts, complaining as Naruto tries to defend himself. You could see that happening, which makes you giggle at their antics. Sasuke stays silent, looking at you and Kakashi in a strange way that you couldn’t figure out why when you met his eyes.

“What? You must not have had fun” You tease, jostling his hair which makes him smack your hand away scoffing. But he kept that same look on his face, it wasn’t a bad look, but you couldn’t figure out what was on his mind.

“Nothing.” He says, turning his back. “Come on before these fireworks start” he doesn’t even wait for a response as he starts walking away. The other two follow him as Naruto waves bye which again makes you giggle, so adorable.

“I think Sasuke had a better time than he wants to admit. Reminds me of someone at that age” You tease.

“I have no clue who you could be referring to.” He remarks pulling you to a bit higher spot on the hill behind where the team set their blanket and everything up. That’s what must be in the baskets. Kakashi takes out everything that was in your basket which includes a little more than just a blanket and snacks for you two, he also got some Sake, your favorite sake. He lets you sit down first on the blanket he just laid out, pouring you and himself some sake as he sits down. You sip on your cup as you gently lean into Kakashi again as you did while walking.

“I haven’t seen fireworks in years.” You break the silence between the two of you.

“Truthfully, I can’t remember the last time I had.” He comments back and you giggle at that taking another sip. You start fiddling with the cup in your hand, anxious about what you’re going to say next.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight.” You came out and just said it.

‘Really?”

“Really” you repeat taking a bigger sip this time.

He smiles gently down at you, “Good. I had hoped so.”

Before you could say anything else, the fireworks started grabbing your attention. It was the perfect spot to watch them. From your point of view, you could see everything without having to strain your neck up to see. It was beautiful.

“Beautiful.” You comment, staring at the fireworks in awe.

“Exceptionally so.” He replies, except he wasn’t looking at the fireworks. He was looking at you and you could feel his gaze, slowly turning your head towards him. His gaze was soft but there was a fire behind it that was making your heart pound into your chest. You didn’t know what was louder, the fireworks or your heart. A feeling of boldness came across you as your hand reached for his face, stroking his cheek, gently pulling on his mask as you leaned up. He follows your lead, leaning down towards you as you pull his mask down past his lips.

“Is this, okay?” He asked barely above a whisper, not even sure if you could hear him or not, even with your faces not even an inch apart. You nod against his face, pushing his nose with yours before his lips land directly onto yours. The arm he had resting behind you grabbed you by the waist pulling you more into him which made you gasp against his mouth. Your gasp allowed Kakashi to explore your mouth with his tongue, he almost moaned. You tasted like sugar and sake; this was going to be his new favorite flavor. You allowed him to dominate your mouth, enjoying the way he felt encompassing you. His grip on your waist getting harder, making you moan into his mouth which just encouraged him more to dominate over you, feeling small and delicate in his grasp. He had such a strong hold on you, kissing you so passionately, hungrily as if you would disappear at any moment if he let go. The kiss was making you dizzy, if Kakashi wasn’t holding onto you so aggressively you don’t even think you would be able to keep yourself upright. You gain some composure as you bite his lower lip, pulling away to take a moment, which he doesn’t give you before he’s attacking your neck a growl coming from deep in his throat as you moan into his ear.

“Fuck, Kashi. We are in public.” You whimper, trying to slow him down. He bit down hard before pulling away.

“You’re right.” He says but doesn’t let you go pulling you into another breathtaking kiss, which you pull away too soon for his liking. You place his mask back on his face with a giggle, fireworks still going off behind y’all as you remove his hand from around your waist entangling your fingers with his.

“I know I’m right.” You put your head on his shoulder, your interlocked fingers in your lap. Fuck, you were definitely head over heels for this man. And if that kiss proved anything, he was still in love with you, which you had no clue why you were worried about in the first place. Y'all enjoyed the rest of the fireworks with your head on his shoulder as his thumb drew circles on your hand, fingers still entwined. After the fireworks were over, Kakashi packed everything up back in the basket and promptly grabbed your hand back into his. He was very serious about hand holding it seemed which made you giggle.

“Alright team, fun’s over. We gotta head back tomorrow so let’s call it a night.” You state walking up to the team as they were getting their own basket back together. You can see Sasuke's eyes dart to where you and Kakashi were connected before going back to what he was doing previously. This almost made you want to let go, feeling self-conscious but Kakashi held your hand tightly. Luckily, neither Naruto nor Sakura paid the two of you any mind as they started walking back to the inn. After getting back to the inn, Sasuke gives you a knowing look, which makes you step right on his foot before taking your leave to your own room. Why he insisted on trying to embarrass you was beyond you, such little brother behavior. Once back in the room, you immediately take down your hair, gently playing the pin Kakashi got for you on the desk. You head to the bathroom, to get ready for the night but unfortunately, while you are in there it seems like you can’t get your yukata untied.

“Um, Kakashi” You call to him from the bathroom. “Can you help me again? You tied this kind of tight ya know.”

He makes his way into the bathroom to assist you, the mask having already been discarded, hands working diligently to untie the knot himself created. Once he assisted you, he didn’t make a move to leave from behind you, instead moving your hair to one side giving him access to your neck again placing his lips there softly as his hands move to the front of your yukata.

“Kakashi” you whisper as you feel him untying the front. His mouth doesn’t move from your neck as he caresses your body.

“We aren’t in public.” He smirked against your skin before continuing his attack on your neck making you grip the sink in front of you arching your back into him.

“No, we aren’t” you whimper as you throw your head back, moving on of your hands to grip the back of his head. His hands roam your body as he sucks and bites at all the weak points of your neck leaving you gasping and moaning. When he realizes he can’t get the thing untied from behind you, he turns you around, lifting you up on the sink and immediately colliding his mouth onto yours. He begins to finally untie the front of your yukata breaking away only to take in your form in just your bra and panties, matching black lace set. One thing you always had confidence in was your body but now you were feeling almost shy, wanting to close back up. Kakashi inhales sharply as his hands run up your thighs.

“Fuck, you're beautiful, even more than before.”

Your form was filled out a little more than most 3 years ago. There were more curves to your hips, your breasts a bit fuller, and your legs so much thicker, Kakashi was mesmerized by the changes to your body, and he needed you desperately. His hand goes to your throat as he pulls you into a kiss, gently squeezing which makes your body unconsciously grind into him, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. You moan his way as he makes his way down your jawline, licking around your ear lobe whispering in your ear how great your body feels against his as his free hand roams your body. He removes his hand from your throat, replacing it with his mouth. his mouth makes its way across your shoulder making your body feel like it's on fire from his touch. Your hands move to his waist to untie the sash to take off his garments, but your hands are fumbling as he makes his way to your breasts, unfastening your bra with ease to take your nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck, Kakashi” you moan, leaving his garment alone to hold yourself on the sink. He went between biting and sucking on your nipple, sending intense waves of pleasure straight to your core as your head is thrown back with a moan. You attempt to pull him closer with your legs, wanting to feel more of his body against you but his hand grabs your thigh to stop your movements. He makes his way back up to your face, kissing you before moving to your ear again.

“Be patient, let me have this” he breaths into your ear and you think you could cum right then, you knew your panties were flooded at this point. You release your legs from around him, allowing him to have his way with you.

“Thank you”

His mouth was everywhere on your torso right then, kissing, sucking, biting every single inch of your skin. You were going to be covered in marks by the time he was done with you, but you were growing needier and needier with each feel of his mouth. You ached for him. He was touching you everywhere but the one place that would relieve your pressure.

“Kashi, please” You begged, not knowing how much more you could take. He goes to his knees looking up at you.

“Of course, princess” his mouth connecting with your clothed pussy as his hands knead your thighs, he was trying to kill you, you just knew it. His tongue swipes across your clit, still clothed teasing you even more. Your hands move to slide your panties down, but his hands come to stop you. “Not yet”

You whine at his actions, needing more of him. The thin layer of your panties separates him from your flesh. You push your hips more into him, not knowing how much more you could take without feeling him.

“Please” you whine, looking down at him and making him darkly chuckle as he finally grants your request by slowly, painfully slowly, dragging your panties down and off. He started to devour you like a man starved. His hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs apart as he feasted on you, overwhelming you with pleasure. Your hands go to grip his hair as you through your head back moaning his name like a bitch in heat. One of the hands that was gripping your thighs moves to your drenched entrance, placing two fingers inside while his mouth moves to suck and swirl around your clit.

“Don’t stop” you moan, feeling everything building up inside of you as his fingers move through you hitting the spot that makes you clench. He moans at your reactions to him which pushes you closer to the edge. The grip on his hair strengthens as you push him further into your cunt crying out his name as an orgasm rips through you, squirting all over his face.

“Fuck fuck fuck” you curse, your back arched as he keeps up his actions as you’re still going through your peak. It was almost too much as his attack on you slowed, finally able to get your breathing under control. He grins at you deviously, face wet from your release as he moves his way to capture your mouth with us. The taste of yourself on his tongue sends a shiver down your spine as you moan into his mouth. Your hands go between your bodies as you grab him, stroking him slowly as you use your own slick to lubricate his length.

“Princess” He growls against your mouth, pressing his body more into your hand. “Put me in, princess” He wanted it to sound like a demand, but it came out more of a whimper, needing to be inside you badly. He needed it almost as much as he needed air. You lift your hips as you guide him into you. Kakashi almost collapses as he feels himself enter you, so tight, so wet, so warm. “Fuck”

His movements are slow at first as he composes himself trying to allow you to adjust to him being inside you, but you don’t need that as he feels you start to grind back against him causing a curse to leave his lips.

“You’re going to kill me, pretty” He grunts as your hands start to rake across his back and he picks up his pace slamming into you fiercely. You’re moaning his name like a prayer, hands leaving streaks across his back and it’s driving him to the brink of insanity. His movements falter for a second as your walls are attempting to pull his cum out directly from his balls. You take this moment to roll over, letting yourself be on top of him, your movements are flawless as you immediately begin riding him not missing a single moment. You really may be the death of him. Fuck. His hands grab onto your hips as you grind against him, the grip he has on you is surely to leave bruises, but you don’t mind you're in complete ecstasy.

“Fuck, Kakashi” you moan fondling your breasts as you grind against him. “I’m gonna cum,” your toes curling as you feel him twitching inside of you, seeing that he’s just as close as you. “cum with me”

Your request spurred something new in him as he started ramming you from underneath making your head spin. You scream his name as you cum, HARD, feeling him cum with you as you collapse on top of him. You both are breathing heavily as you both come down for your highs, his hands gently stroking your back. Your eyes are growing heavy, and you feel so content and at peace for once in so long.

“I love you” your voice comes out, barely as a whisper. Kakashi’s hand stops moving on your back, gripping you to his body.

“I love you,” he says back, and you sigh happily feeling your eyes grow heavy.

Everything finally felt right, you felt right in his arms, you felt right with this team, and everything was good for you finally. You couldn’t wait to tell your sister when you got back, she would be so happy. You were so happy.

Is this what pure happiness felt like?

taglist: @smarsd @ferretsqueen @yellowflashof-theleaf

Taglist open

[burningcheese-merchant]

Mythological Inspirations: Pepper Jack Cookie Edition

So, where did Pepper Jack come from?

Sex, you dumbass child ❌ (yes but actually no)

A witch's oven ❌ (yes but actually no)

Some spicy cheese, a mythical bird, and an elephant man ✅

Behold, the latest installment of "Merchant rants for 10 hours about how far they went designing some dumbass fankids" (also I fumbled coloring and shading his wings, I am deeply sorry for that)

Like I said before, I did some research into both Egyptian and Hindu mythology while thinking up these critters. Golden Cheese and Burning Spice take after some gods/myths themselves, so I thought "why not keep that sentiment up with their children?"

Golden takes after Ra, Egyptian god of the sun and leader of the Egyptian pantheon. With this in mind... Pepper Jack takes after the bennu bird, a godlike being that embodies the soul of Ra himself.

The bennu is/was most often depicted as a blue, gray and/or white heron (mostly blue). So, Jack's wings are likewise meant to be blue (with some gray and white mixed in)

The bennu bird is believed to have been the original phoenix, even predating the Greek one. It lights itself ablaze in the early morning and rises from its own ashes afterwards, thus symbolizing the dawn of a new day, as well as creation and rebirth in general. Jack can also light himself on fire, without the fire harming him at all. He can't control it very well when he's young, but he will have mastered it by the time he's an adult

One famous creation myth involves the bennu flying over the primordial waters of chaos, perching on a rock, and letting out a great cry - and with this cry, it determined what it and what isn't, and began the cycle of time and created the world itself. Mimicking this myth, I had Jack be born exactly at dawn, on a rock by the river (I also went ahead and added a Nile equivalent to the Golden Cheese Kingdom lol), with the sun rising immediately after he cried out for the first time. Almost like he summoned it personally...

A common funeral practice in Ancient Egypt was giving the deceased a heart-shaped amulet with the bennu's image engraved in it, as it was meant to be a protective charm to guide and guard the spirits of the dead; the bennu was considered a patron of death as well as life, and was invoked/prayed to to ensure safe passage through the afterlife for the deceased. Thus, Jack wears his own little protection amulet, tucked beneath his collar - a handcrafted, blessed gift from GCK clergy

(I FORGOT TO ADD THIS POINT LMAO) The bennu was often referred to as "lord of jubilees", referencing its association with the sun and resurrection (some festivals and rituals were referred to as "jubilees", including the one performed at dawn every day specifically meant to honor/invoke the bennu and its perpetual self-sacrifice and renewal). I let that be something High Priest Cheesenbird calls Jack, as a term of endearment. Jack is his "little lord of jubilees". Adoring Bird Grandpa lol

Spice is based on Shiva, Hindu god of destruction and part of a holy trinity (creation, preservation, destruction). Not only does he have a wife, Parvati (whom he's madly in love with and wholly devoted to), they have two children (which I did not know prior to creating the kids, that was a cool coincidence lol). Jack takes after Ganesha, elder son of Shiva, god of wisdom and good fortune.

Jack shares Ganesha's cleverness and love of knowledge, and similarly possesses a good amount of both (although Jack may not necessarily be wise, not as a child haha)

Ganesha is seen as a custodian of esoteric knowledge in particular, with a special knack for astrology. So, I gave Jack a hobby/interest in astrology and astronomy himself, which he pursues for fun on his own time (and that ended up making him a fantastic navigator, bar none; as long as he can see the sky, he'll never get lost)

Ganesha is celebrated as the remover of obstacles, literal and figurative. Jack... well, he's more of the sidestepper of obstacles lol. He works smart, not hard. If he can find a way around something using only his wits, he will

Ganesha has a sweet tooth, and his favorite food is modak (Indian sweet dumpling). So I gave Jack a sweet tooth, too, and likewise made his favorite food modak. (Jack is a fucking menace when it comes to modak. If any appear in his line of sight, expect it to vanish soon. He's like a crackhead with those things)

The Om symbol 🕉️, AKA the sacred sound/mantra that has a billion different meanings but is generally associated with universal harmony and consciousness, is also often associated with Ganesha (and Shiva, too!). So Jack is getting an Om tattoo on his wrist (or the back of his hand, idk haven't decided) when he's older.

Lots of jewelry in Indian culture and Hinduism, from what I've seen. So I took the liberty of giving Jack a little elephant pendant (gift from a Wild Spice artisan), meant to reference Ganesha idol pendants. It's also hanging from his neck and hidden under his collar, same as the amulet

Jack's beloved elephant toy, Pudding, is also supposed to be a nod to Ganesha lol

Sorry they look like ass, still a level 0 artist here lol. At least Pudding looks better here than he did before

Ok I'm done rambling. TL;DR I think way too hard about stuff. I will hopefully improve as an artist if I keep pushing myself no matter how much my doodles annoy me because they're amateurish at best. I will do Matar Paneer's inspirations post tomorrow probably. If you actually read through all of this, lol sucker thank you for coming to my TED Talk and eating my word salad

[leonardcohenofficial]

as is tradition here are my top nine new-to-me watches of the year—in no particular order (l-r, top row to bottom row):

the african desperate (martine syms, 2022) not a pretty picture (martha coolidge, 1975) anatomy of a fall (justine triet, 2023) the girls (mai zetterling, 1968) network (sidney lumet, 1976) the year of the cannibals (liliana cavani, 1970) all the beauty and the bloodshed (laura poitras, 2022) straight on till morning (peter collinson, 1972) microhabitat (jeon go-woon, 2017)

i hit 150 total films and my continual goal of half of the films by women and nonbinary filmmakers, and still definitely need to keep up with deliberately seeking out films by directors of color! feel free to tell me your faves if you’ve seen any of these 🖤👀🎬🍿🎥

i'll tag @privatejoker / @wanlittlehusk / @majorbaby / @edwardalbee / @draftdodgerag / @lesbiancolumbo / @frmulcahy / @nelson-riddle-me-this / @firewalkwithmedvd and anyone else who'd like to share their top watches of the year!

full list of films for the year is included below, favorites are bolded in red:

Farewell Amor (Ekwa Msangi, 2020)

Hell Camp: Teen Nightmare (Liza Williams, 2023)

Blacks Britannica (David Koff, 1978)

New Year, New You (Sophia Takal, 2023)

Family Band: The Cowsills Story (Louise Palanker and Bill Filipiak, 2011)

The Color Purple (Blitz Bazawule, 2023)

The Apology (Alison Star Locke, 2022)

Close (Lukas Dhont, 2022)

Unintended (Anja Murmann, 2018)

Other People’s Children (Liz Hinlein, 2015)

Omega Rising Women of Rastafari (D. Elmina Davis, 1988)

The Gypsy Moths (John Frankenheimer, 1969)

Be My Cat: A Film for Anne (Adrian Țofei, 2015)

Insomnia (Christopher Nolan, 2002)

Chowchilla (Paul Solet, 2023)

Intimate Relations (Philip Goodhew, 1996)

Monument (Jagoda Szelc, 2018)

After Sherman (Jon Sesrie Goff, 2022)

Remnants of the Watts Festival (Ulysses Jenkins, 1980)

Network (Sidney Lumet, 1976)

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (Joseph Sargent, 1974)

Down Low (Rightor Doyle, 2023)

Our Father, the Devil (Ellie Foumbi, 2021)

The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023)

Youngblood (Noel Nosseck, 1978)

Joy Division - Under Review (Christian Davies, 2006)

Being Frank: The Chris Sievey Story (Steve Sullivan, 2018)

Sun Ra: A Joyful Noise (Robert Mugge, 1980)

Fanny: The Right To Rock (Bobbi Jo Hart, 2021)

Depeche Mode: The Dark Progression (Alec Lindsell, 2009)

Kraftwerk And The Electronic Revolution (Thomas Arnold, 2008)

Blank City (Celine Danhier, 2010)

Oliver Sacks: His Own Life (Ric Burns, 2019)

Monster (Hirokazu Kore-eda, 2023)

Black Is Beltza (Fermín Muguruza, 2018)

Werewolf (Ashley McKenzie, 2016)

The Humans (Stephen Karam, 2021)

Relative (Tracey Arcabasso Smith, 2022)

The Believer (Henry Bean, 2001)

Lost Angel: The Genius of Judee Sill (Brian Lindstrom and Andy Brown, 2022) 

Animals (Collin Schiffli, 2014)

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man (Stephen Kijak, 2006)

Novitiate (Maggie Betts, 2017)

Hunger (Henning Carlsen, 1966)

Late Night With The Devil (Cameron Cairnes and Colin Cairnes, 2023)

The Stunt Man (Richard Rush, 1980)

New York Doll (Greg Whiteley, 2005)

The Iron Claw (Sean Durkin, 2023)

Your Fat Friend (Jeanie Finlay, 2023)

Scarred Justice: The Orangeburg Massacre 1968 (Bestor Cram and Judy Richardson, 2008)

Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968)

Uptight (Jules Dassin, 1968)

Messiah of Evil (Gloria Katz and Willard Huyck, 1973)

Plastic Paradise (Brett O’Bourke, 2013)

You Hurt My Feelings (Nicole Holofcener, 2023)

Pretty Poison (Noel Black, 1968)

The Shout (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1978)

Shakedown (Leilah Weinraub, 2018)

Class of 1984 (Mark L. Lester, 1982)

Betty: They Say I’m Different (Philip Cox, 2017)

Beautiful Boy (Felix van Groeningen, 2018)

Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet, 2023)

Gimme Shelter (Albert Maysles, David Maysles, and Charlotte Zwerin, 1970)

The Beach Boys (Frank Marshall and Thom Zimny, 2024)

High and Low (Kevin Macdonald, 2023)

Brats (Andrew McCarthy, 2024)

I Saw The TV Glow (Jane Schoenbrun, 2023)

The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella, 1999)

Altered States (Ken Russell, 1980)

This Closeness (Kit Zauhar, 2023)

How To Have Sex (Molly Manning Walker, 2023)

American Commune (Rena Mundo Croshere and Nadine Mundo, 2013)

Look In Any Window (William Alland, 1961)

Private Property (Leslie Stevens, 1960)

We’re Still Here: Johnny Cash’s Bitter Tears Revisited (Antonino D’Ambrosio, 2015)

The Wobblies (Stewart Bird and Deborah Shaffer, 1979)

Last Summer Won’t Happen (Tom Hurwitz and Peter Gessner, 1968)

Goodbye Gemini (Alan Gibson, 1970)

Keyboard Fantasies: The Beverly Glenn-Copeland Story (Posy Dixon, 2019)

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World (Kristina Lindström and Kristian Petri, 2021)

The Passenger (Carter Smith, 2023)

The Boys Who Said No (Judith Ehrlich, 2020)

Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman, 2008)

Karen Carpenter: Starving for Perfection (Randy Martin, 2023)

...And Justice For All (Norm Jewison, 1978)

I Used To Be Funny (Ally Pankiw, 2023)

Badlands (Terrence Malick, 1973)

Straight On Till Morning (Peter Collinson, 1972)

The Same Difference: Gender Roles in the Black Lesbian Community (Nneka Onuorah, 2015)

Thanksgiving (Eli Roth, 2023)

Sorry/Not Sorry (Caroline Suh and Cara Mones, 2023)

Am I OK? (Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne, 2022)

Joan Baez: I Am a Noise (Maeve O’Boyle, Miri Navasky, and Karen O’Connor, 2023)

No Direction Home (Martin Scorsese, 2005)

Shutter Island (Martin Scorsese, 2010)

Water Lilies (Céline Sciamma, 2007)

The Strings (Ryan Glover, 2020)

The Crucible (Nicholas Hytner, 1996)

Woman of the Hour (Anna Kendrick, 2024)

The Platform (Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, 2019)

Tabloid (Errol Mark Morris, 2010)

Will & Harper (Josh Greenbaum, 2024)

Miller’s Girl (Jade Halley Bartlett, 2024)

Give Me Pity! (Amanda Kramer, 2022)

Landlocked (Paul Owens, 2021)

Perfect Love (Catherine Breillat, 1996)

Not a Pretty Picture (Martha Coolidge, 1975)

Seeking Mavis Beacon (Jazmin Jones, 2024)

Renfield (Chris McKay, 2023)

Compulsion (Richard Fleischer, 1959)

An Angel At My Table (Jane Campion, 1990)

Longlegs (Oz Perkins, 2024)

Rare Beasts (Billie Piper, 2019)

Nightman (Mélanie Delloye-Betancourt, 2023)

The Changin’ Times of Ike White (Daniel Vernon, 2020)

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

The Year of the Cannibals (Liliana Cavani, 1970)

Fanatical: The Catfishing of Tegan and Sara (Erin Lee Carr, 2024)

The Loneliest Planet (Julia Loktev, 2011)

Marjoe (Howard Smith and Sarah Kernochan, 1972)

Witches (Elizabeth Sankey, 2024)

Angela (Rebecca Miller, 1995)

The Morning After (Richard T. Heffron, 1974)

Beach Rats (Eliza Hittman, 2017)

Last Summer (Catherine Breillat, 2023)

The Fits (Anna Rose Holmer, 2015)

Hold Your Breath (Karrie Crouse and Will Joines, 2024)

What Comes Around (Amy Redford, 2022)

Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (Kurt Kuenne, 2008)

Priscilla (Sofia Coppola, 2023)

The Girls (Mai Zetterling, 1968)

Sweetie (Jane Campion, 1989)

Victim/Suspect (Nancy Schwartzman, 2023)

The African Desperate (Martine Syms, 2022)

Les Nôtres (Jeanne Leblanc, 2020)

A Sacrifice (Jordan Scott, 2024)

All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (Laura Poitras, 2022)

My Name is Not Ali (Viola Shafik, 2011)

Committed (Sheila McLaughlin and Lynne Tillman, 1984)

Chained (Jennifer Lynch, 2012)

The Hour of Liberation Has Arrived (Heiny Srour, 1974)

All Power To The People! (Lee Lew-Lee, 1997)

Night Moves (Kelly Reichardt, 2013)

Destroyer (Karyn Kusama, 2018)

Late Night (Nisha Ganatra, 2023)

The Year Between (Alex Heller, 2022)

Loved (Erin Dignam, 1997)

Girl In The Picture (Skye Borgman, 2022)

Microhabitat (Jeon Go-Woon, 2017)

Dear Ex (Mag Hsu and Chih-yen Hsu, 2018)

[soundslivemagazine]

In Defence Of Oasis

Exploring the hype behind one of Britain’s most loved and raucous rock n roll bands.

Unless you’ve been living under the most soundproof of rocks this week, you will have heard the news. After a decade and a half of the alluring ‘will-they-won’t-they’ drama, the Gallagher brothers Noel and Liam have rekindled just as suddenly as they’d ended it all backstage at a gig in Paris in 2009.

The rumours abound on social media suddenly began to feel a lot less like fantasies when Oasis, Noel and Liam’s accounts all teased an announcement last Saturday. Oasis had made announcements since their split, usually about anniversaries, merchandise and documentaries, this wasn’t out of the ordinary. In fact, the band would soon be marking 30 years since their era-defining debut album Definitely Maybe came out in August 1994. Singer Liam Gallagher had also threatened to reunite the band on plenty of occasions in the ensuing decade, but never made good on his word. Why should this time have felt different?

In theory, it shouldn’t have. The village eventually loses interest in the boy crying wolf. And yet, when Liam Gallagher stepped onto the Main Stage at Reading festival to perform a headlining set on Sunday and opened with nostalgic on-screen visuals of Oasis, any doubt left in fans’ minds quickly evaporated.

The following Tuesday, the band confirmed what we already knew: Oasis, the biggest Britpop band of the 1990s, were back in action.

The avalanche of articles followed like they hadn’t in over 20 years: Oasis had undoubtedly reignited the fantasies of music magazines and publications that were otherwise scaling down in the face of rising operational costs. We’ve now seen over 20 NME articles, news on the BBC website, a revived radio documentary on BBC 6 Music, countless Rolling Stone thinkpieces, news in SPIN Magazine, the Manchester Evening News, gossip in the rags of the Sun, Mail, Metro. The mural in Manchester. The millions of people that tried to get tickets for the reunion dates that sold out in hours. It’s easy to be sick of it all, to think there wasn’t a band more overrated, overhyped or beloved than Oasis.

But let’s forget the hymns for a moment. Let us re-examine the appeal of the band before the myth: five boys from Manchester who believed in nothing more than the rock ‘n’ roll dream. And certainly, nothing less.

Cast your mind back to 1994, before the success and idolatry, before their songs would be turned into design-for-life anthems, before the band would be permanently woven into the fabric of British music history. Strip all that away and try to imagine hearing a then-relatively unknown Oasis for the first time. Imagine being told that half the band was not yet 22 years old, that they were a new band, releasing their third-ever single? Can you imagine, however simple it may have been lyrically, hearing Live Forever for the first time? In particular, just 4 months after Kurt Cobain’s suicide, after many fans were left feeling like they were staring at the definitive end of an era of honest independent music?

In 1994, Oasis were ’77’s punk all over again. Entering a landscape of artists (a term Liam Gallagher has derided) who internalised their music and recoiled at the notion of explicit success, Oasis were a brash rejection of shoegaze and indie’s philosophies, even going as far as to instruct the presenters of BBC Radio 1’s Evening Sessions to tell the world that Oasis were not an indie band. They were a rock ‘n’ roll band, and a band that dared to aim high, openly and with no apologies (all apologies for the pun). 

That was a philosophy they would live by until the bitter end, for better or worse. In a world of falling ambition and no hope, as Britain emerged ravaged by the Thatcher years to find there was nowhere left for its young to go, Oasis were determined to write their own destiny, largely for themselves, but invariably, for their entire generation. 

Keep reading

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Absolutely adore your work! It never fails to make my day <3

I was thinking a josh x drummer reader! Maybe they drum for a pop punk band so they're in similar scenes and josh has just been admiring and pinning for them, I don't have a specific era or anything in mind! Just something fluffy with the drummer boy <3

WWWY - Josh Dun x Iero!Reader

Warnings: none hehe

Word count: 1555

A/N: I've been watching all the WWWY videos and thinking about MCR and PTV a lot recently so here's a cute little fic about a pop punk drummer and Josh being at WWWY fest :)

The sun was setting behind the Las Vegas skyline, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple as I slid my drum sticks into my back pocket. We’d just wrapped our set on one of the smaller stages at When We Were Young Fest, and I was still riding the adrenaline high, my hands tingling from the final drum solo that I’d nailed—thank god. As the drummer for Neon Rebellion, I’d been dreaming of playing a festival ever since I first picked up a pair of sticks and plastered my bedroom walls with posters of all the bands who were now, somehow, my peers. It still felt surreal.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and grinned as I caught sight of a familiar face—my uncle Frank. He was talking to Mikey, and as I walked up to them, they both turned to greet me with warm smiles. Mikey gave me a little fist bump, and Frank pulled me into a quick, sweaty hug.

“Hey, Y/N, you killed it out there!” Frank said, his voice loud enough to carry over the hum of conversations and the distant echo of whatever band was rocking the main stage. “It’s so great to see you making music hun. You’re just like me!”

“Yeah, you guys sounded great,” Mikey added, nodding approvingly. “How’s it feel to finally play a festival?”

“It feels like a dream,” I admitted, brushing a strand of my damp hair out of my face. “I feel like I’m going to wake up in my room any minute now.”

“Nope, you’re definitely awake.” Frank grinned and ruffled my hair. “And you’re not going back to bar gigs anytime soon.”

I laughed and swatted his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. This is just… huge. Thanks for all your support.”

He waved me off, looking almost embarrassed. “You don’t have to thank me. You did this all on your own, kid. We just knew you were gonna be a star.” He shared a proud look with Mikey, who nodded in agreement.

“Speaking of stars, though,” Mikey said, gesturing over my shoulder. 

I furrowed my brow and turned around, only to find myself locking eyes with someone I recognized immediately—even though I’d never met him in person before. My breath hitched, and for a second, I thought I was hallucinating because Josh Dun was walking toward us. Like, Josh freaking Dun. I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights because Frank chuckled under his breath and patted my shoulder.

Josh had this shy, nervous energy about him as he approached, his eyes flicking between me and my uncle, almost as if he was worried he was intruding on a family moment. His red hair stood out against the dark fest grounds, and he wore a faded band tee that I couldn’t quite make out. There was a nervous smile tugging at his lips, and it was like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands—he shifted awkwardly for a moment before tucking them in his jean pockets.

“Hi, um… Y/N?” he asked, his voice a little hesitant, almost like he was testing out the sound of my name.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fact that my heart was beating faster than the double-kick I’d just played on stage. “Hi.”

“I’m—well, I’m Josh,” he said, then laughed at himself. “Obviously. Sorry. I, uh, caught your set earlier, and I just wanted to tell you that you were amazing. Like, really amazing. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I felt heat rising to my cheeks, and I cursed myself internally for getting flustered. “Oh, wow, thank you! That means a lot, coming from you. I’m a huge fan. Your band was one of the first that made making it seem possible to me.”

Josh’s smile widened at that, and I thought I saw a hint of relief in his eyes. “Really? That’s awesome. I actually, um… I’ve been following you guys for a while. You’ve got this insane energy on stage. It’s super cool.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. Josh Dun, a drummer I’d idolized for years, was standing here, telling me that I inspired him. It was almost too much to handle, and I felt my mouth go dry. Mikey stepped in to ease the tension, giving Josh a friendly nod.

“Josh, good to see you,” Mikey said, extending a hand. Josh shook it quickly, and they exchanged pleasantries, but I barely registered their words because my mind was still reeling. I managed to glance at Frank, who gave me a knowing smirk before stepping back with Mikey to give us space.

“So,” Josh said after a moment, shifting a little closer. “I noticed you’ve got some pretty unique gear. You’re using custom cymbals, right? I thought I heard a different kind of tone during that breakdown.”

He leaned forward slightly, and suddenly we were deep in conversation about drum gear—the exact sizes of our snares, the brands we swore by, how to get the perfect tone for different genres. I told him how I loved experimenting with hybrid kits, and he shared how he modified his drum pads to get the right sound for live shows. We geeked out about drumming techniques, the struggles of keeping up with intense touring schedules, and even laughed about mishaps during sets.

At some point, Frank and Mikey wandered off, leaving us alone. The festival buzzed around us, the noise a constant backdrop to our conversation, but it felt like we were in our own little world. Josh was so easy to talk to—passionate and animated when discussing the intricacies of drumming, but gentle and attentive when he asked me about my experiences on tour.

“You know,” he said, after what felt like no time at all, “I’d love to catch some sets with you, if you’re up for it. There are a few bands playing tonight that I really don’t want to miss.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun!” I agreed, trying not to sound too eager. “Who do you want to see?”

“Well, My Chem are playing soon so we should definitely head there later,”” he said with a lopsided grin. 

My heart skipped a beat. “I’d love to,” I said, barely able to contain my excitement. 

We spent the next few hours wandering around the festival, squeezing through the crowd to get the best view of some of my favorite bands. Pierce The Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, Taking Back Sunday—it was like reliving my teenage dreams, but with Josh by my side. When the time came for My Chemical Romance, he guided me to the side stage, his hand brushing mine for a moment before we stepped into the chaotic world of backstage passes and crew members.

Frank saw us as we approached and shot me a teasing look. “So, Josh, you finally managed to pull her away, huh?”

“Frank!” I groaned, feeling my face flush, but Josh just laughed.

“She’s a tough one to impress,” he said, sending me a sideways smile that made my heart flip. “I had to pull out all the stops.”

“Good luck,” Frank said, winking at me before turning his attention back to the stage, where Gerard was getting ready to kick off the set.

I felt a flutter of excitement in my chest as Josh and I took our spots at the side stage, the bright lights from MCR’s setup casting long shadows across our faces. I’d seen them play a million times before, but something about watching from here, with Josh leaning close to make comments about the drum technique or to share an inside joke, made it feel completely new.

The set was electric, every song hitting me harder than the last. There was a moment during “I’m Not Okay” when Josh and I both looked at each other, grinning like idiots as we sang along at the top of our lungs. It was the kind of moment I knew I’d never forget.

As the last notes of “Helena” faded out and the crowd roared their appreciation, Josh turned to me, his eyes catching the dim lights of the stage. “So,” he said, a little breathless from singing and shouting, “can I… take you out for real sometime? Like, a date?”

I stared at him, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, almost too quickly. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Awesome,” he said, grinning so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Before I could say anything else, Frank reappeared, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Well, well, well,” he teased. “Looks like someone’s got herself a date with a rockstar.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks.

Josh just laughed, looking over at Frank with a playful expression. “Hey, you know what they say,” he said, nudging me gently. “It’s all about the drummers, right?”

“Right,” I said, feeling a warm glow in my chest as I looked back at him. “It’s all about the drummers.”

And as we stood there, watching the stage lights fade and the crew begin to break down, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be—right here, in the heart of the music, with Josh by my side.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[xdacted]

To be with you

Paring: Reader x Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/no comfort, Ferrari's Incompetence

Word Count: 6,197

Status: Complete

_________________

He meets her at a house party. 

With music blaring in his ears, burning liquor on his lips, bodies packed onto the makeshift dance floor. He doesn’t remember whose party it is, only that Lorenzo had dragged him to it, but he’s since lost sight of his brother, swallowed by the throng of people. There are hands everywhere, pulling at his shirt, sliding down his back. But the alcohol that burns within him makes it easy for him to forget that he’s crowded around by strangers, and he loses himself in the energy of the room. 

It’s electrifying, thrumming in his veins and he almost feels like he’s racing. His heart is hammering within his chest, face warm, sweat dripping down his neck. He loves nights like these. He loves forgetting he’s Chalres Leclerc - ‘Il Predestinato’. 

Don’t get him wrong, racing is everything. It’s the blood in his body, the breath in his lungs - he’d be nothing without it, but sometimes that’s exactly what he misses. 

Being nothing, being no one. 

Living life without the crushing weight of the Scuderia on his back. 

A sudden change in the music draws him back to reality. There’s the squeal of a track and the people around him begin to boo loudly. He joins in, not for any particular reason, but it feels right. He begins to laugh, as someone shouts beside him, “This is shit!”

With the crowd still, he can finally detangle himself. He slips through the slivers of space, nearly tripping over his two feet. He manages to find the kitchen, red solo cups strewn about the marble island. With a sigh, Charles pulls himself against the cool surface, trying to calm the rapid drum of his heartbeat. The room spins a little and he curses for drinking so much, nothing will be worth the hangover tomorrow. 

“Are you alright?”

A girl perched upon the cabinets, watching him from above. Her voice is loud, fighting to rise above the music that resumes behind them. 

He nods, steadying himself against the counter, “I am alright.”

“Are you sure?” A smile plays on her face and Chalres can’t help but return it.

“I am.”

“You don’t look it,” Her feet sway where they dangle, her ankle bracelet shining in the artificial light of the kitchen, “You should drink some water.”

“Thanks for the suggestion.”

A laugh follows, but he can’t hear it. Their voices are swallowed by the music, and he can’t help but wish that everyone would shut up. 

“Maybe some air?”

He nods, watching her dismount from her perch. They make their way to the balcony and the night wind is soft against his skin, the lights of Monaco bright in the darkness. His wonderful city breathing below him. Charles clings to the railing, staring into the distance of the sea, the moon dancing across the glittering waters. The boats bob along to the gentle waves, and it looks as if the arms of the ocean are trying to rock them to sleep. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Her voice is quieter now, the music trapped behind the terrace doors. It’s just them out here. 

“It is,” He smiles, his eyes slipping closed. Home fills his lungs. 

The smell of salt and sand, the dying bite of the sun on housetops, and a bit of her perfume. He can hear the laughter of his brothers as they run around the streets, kicking a football between them. He can see the confetti cannons and the spray of champagne as the rush of victory sings in his veins, throwing himself in the arms of his father. 

He nearly forgets she’s there, wrapped in memories that make him feel as if he’s floating. But then, he can hear the groan of the lounge chairs behind him. He turns to face her, watching with a chuckle as she burrows into the festive pillows that lie below her. 

When she looks up at him, a smile playing on her lips, it’s almost as if they’ve known each other for years. She gestures to the empty space beside her, and he collapses down onto the chair next to her. The wood of the seat creaks beneath him, but he settles into it. 

Silence balloons over them. 

The night rolling over them, Charles can feel the buzz simmering in his veins. His head has begun to clear, and he looks over at her. She lays there with her eyes closed, the wind blowing through her hair, a few pieces stuck to her forehead with sweat. The porch light dances on her skin. He finds himself memorizing the curve of her jaw and the lines of her nose, the bow of her lips. 

She’s beautiful. 

“I’m Chalres.”

His voice pops the peaceful nothingness that gathered, but she just hums. 

“I know.”

His face begins to burn, embarrassment twisting in his stomach. He hadn’t meant to sound arrogant, he just wanted to be polite, but before he can explain it away, she continues. 

“Everyone in Monaco knows who you are,” Hearing her say it only makes his blush worse, but he blames the alcohol. He’d never been good at drinking. 

“Il Predestinato,” She teases, cracking one eye open to stare at him. 

He lets out a sound of disapproval. That’s not who he is, that’s who people want him to be. 

“No?”

“Definitely not,” Charles’s words are quick. But he doesn’t know why he cares so much. He doesn’t understand why he feels the need to tell her - a stranger at a house party - how he feels. Why should he explain who he is? Why should she know?

“Who are you then?”

Charles doesn’t answer, looking down at his hands. He didn’t want her to know him as that, he wanted her to just know him as Charles. Just a normal person. Like everyone else. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I only know about F1 because of my brothers.”

Her words make him look up, “You don’t watch it?”

“God, no!” She snorts, “What could be more boring than watching a bunch of cars going in circles.”

“Hey,” Charles says, trying to sound as offended as possible, “That’s what I do for a job.”

He looks over to her, and she’s smiling up at him. The stars twinkled in her eyes, she waited for a moment before pushing forward, “Well?” 

“What?”

“Who are you?”

He breathes for a moment. Just sitting beside her watching the wind blow through her hair, he just breathes.

“I’m Charles.”

“Just Charles?”

“Just Charles.”

With a hum, she closes her eyes. She offers her own name and Charles thinks its the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard - like a prayer falling into the  night sky. 

“Nice to meet you, Just Charles,” She adds and Charles decides he wants to hear her say his name for the rest of his life. 

Silence gathers over them once more, but Charles finds that he doesn’t mind. It was as if the world had fallen away. As if there was no one left in the world besides the two of them. Two beating hearts, standing at the edge of the world, holding onto each other because there is nothing else for them to do. 

There is no one, Charles thought, as beautiful as she. 

His heart drumming in his throat, he gathers the courage to ask what she’s doing tomorrow. 

____________

Charles doesn’t want to leave. Thinking for the first time, that Bahrain could pass him by. 

“You’re going to miss your flight,” She whispers against his lips. 

He loves her. 

He’s so very sure that he does. How could he not?

Her smile is so bright, shining in the darkness of his apartment. With his luggage piled by the door, and Andrea waiting outside, he wants to stay. Just here with her. 

“Come with me,” His voice is soft against her. 

“You know I can’t,” Her smile doesn’t falter and she doesn’t move any further from him, her arms tight around his middle. He does know. She has a life here, a job that she loves and Charles would never dare pull her away from that.

He fakes a pout, jutting his lower lip out. She lets out a gentle laugh and Charles doesn’t thinking twice about joining her.

“I’ll be watching,” She promises, pressing a gentle kiss to his nose, “So make the whole ‘driving in circles' thing interesting for me.” 

Charles can’t help the grin that grows wide on his face. He tries to pull her even closer, dropping his head down to the crook of her shoulder. He breathes her in, letting her fill his lungs. He presses a kiss to her neck, a small butterfly peck, but it makes her giggle. 

The sound of her laughter filled him with light, ‘I love you,’ he nearly says, but then, there’s the blaring sound of a car horn ringing from the streets below. He’s late. But he doesn’t care. 

“You have to go!” She puts her hands against his chest, guiding him backwards, until he nearly trips over the threshold of the front door.

He whines out her name, “No…”

“Yes.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“I know,” Her smirk makes him lean back over her. His hands find her waist, and he plants a soft kiss on her lips. 

“I’ll be back.”

“I know you will.”

When he has to pull away from her, it hurts. Something throbbing in his chest and he isn't even out the door yet. She helps him gather his bags, but there’s a small frown on her face. 

He straightens himself, pulling his luggage out the door. He turns to look back at her, and she’s rushing back up to connect their lips, “Be careful, Charles.”

“I will.”

There’s a silence that begins to inflate around them. The nothingness of midnight creeping upon them, he can swear that he hears their unsaid ‘I love you’s floating in the air. 

“I -”

There’s another car honk. 

“You,” She says, her hands pushing the door shut, “Have to go.”

He does, tumbling from their apartment as she shuts the door in his face. She’s waiting for him when he comes back from Bahrain. A smile on her face and he forgets the ache in his bones or cramp in his legs. He’d rushed back to see her. Nearly pushing past the reporters and speeding through the driver's debrief afterward. 

Charles hopped on a plane first thing, still smelling of gasoline and champaign. The victory still singing in his veins, he felt as if he could soar to her, gather her in his arms and float to the stars. He’d won and he was returning to her as a champion. Though, he knew, deep down, that he could’ve returned p20 and she’d love him regardless. 

He has to stop himself from kicking their apartment door down. Anticipation heavy in his stomach, his hands shake as he slots the key through. It opens with a quiet click, the light of the hallway spilling into the darkness of the apartment. The silence curls around him, and for the first time, he can feel the exhaustion in his bones. Pressing against him, reminding him that he’s traveled halfway across the world. 

He pulls his luggage through the threshold of the door, dropping it in the living room. He knows it won’t be unpacked until days later, even more, he knows he’ll need to be gone in just a few days time for the next race. 

The thought makes his heart hurt, but the sound of soft feet against the wood floor draws him back to reality. Before he can even ask, she’s standing before him. Clad in his sweatshirt, with a blanket wrapped around herself, she stands right before him. 

His beautiful, beautiful girl. 

“Welcome home, my Champion.”

His blood burns as he crashes his body into hers. Locking his arms around her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. She smells like home and it makes his head spin. He’s missed her so fucking much. 

There was nothing that could ever take this moment from him. 

Holding her in the darkness of their home, feeling as if there’s no one else in the world but them. He is so very in love with her. Her love twists around him, filling every crack in his soul, hoisting him from the waters of his self-doubt. She is the sun that shines in the morning and the moon that glows at night and he loves her more than anything. 

“I missed you,” He mutters against her skin, his voice muffled by her shoulder. 

She lets out a soft chuckle, the air that escapes her mouth floating past his ear, “I know.”

He smiles, trying to burrow himself further into her skin. He missed the heat of her touch, setting him aflame in the best possible way. 

An eternity feels as if it's passed, but they just stand there, holding one another. The world ticks slowly by them, but they don’t mind. The stars waltzing in the sky above them, the sleepy city below them, they are perfect where they are. Just here. In the moment. 

“Welcome home,” She pulls back slightly, only enough to angle her face to his and he pulls back just enough to face her. 

The sight of her takes his breath away. His body craves her, it sings for her, “Thank you for the welcome.” 

His hands find her waist, sitting just upon the small of her back, “Will you let me show you how much I missed you?”

There’s something that dances in her eyes, it makes the fire in Charles’ stomach grow brighter. She smiles coyly up at him, staring at him through her eyelashes, her hands pressing themselves against her chest. 

“If you must,” She says, but the blush in her cheeks betrays her. 

“I must.” 

He doesn’t waste another second, scooping her into his arms. He’s nearly running to their bedroom, swallowing her giggles with a kiss. 

Fuck, he’s missed her. 

All of her.  

__________

They’re together in Austria. Charles managed to convince her to take the week off to be with him and he’s glad he did. To have her here with him, finding her beaming face in the crowd, through the spray of champagne, meant more than everything. 

She was staring up at him like he held the world in his hands, like he’d carved the moon and stars. It makes him wish that the ceremony would speed by, that he could just throw himself at her and fall apart in her arms, the exhaustion creeping up his spine. 

The road leading up to this race was hard, and for a moment, Charles feared that this race would be lost to him too. He was still trying to keep himself in the Championship race, trying to never let Max get too far out in front of him in points. 

He could do it, he was sure of it. He could be the World Champion. 

“Hello, my Champion.”

With her, he could. 

She found him in his driver's room trying to peel his soaking overalls off his body. The sight made her burst into laughter, the arms had gotten tangled around his middle and he was stuck. 

“You are just going to stand there?” He questioned with a laugh, “Horrible.”

She threw her head back, setting her bag onto the couch by the door.

“But you still love me,” She said, walking towards him. She reached for his sleeves, pulling them apart and helping him step from his suit as it pooled at his ankles. 

He looked down at her as she worked. What? Love?

It was true. He loved her. He loved her more than anything. More than everything, but neither one of them had said so. It wasn’t that they were afraid, they weren’t - he wasn’t. It just…their feelings always felt so real, so palpable. He never doubted for a moment that he loved her or that she loved him, he just knew. So saying those words - saying that he loved her - never felt like it was demanded. He was in love with her and she knew.

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Perhaps?” Her eyes grew wide as she feigned offense, but she couldn’t hide her smile, “Charles Leclerc.”

“Perhaps,” He cut himself off, hands falling to her waist and pulling her close, “Perhaps more than just perhaps?”

For a moment, she stared up at him. There it was, those feelings burning in his eyes, but she knew. She hummed, letting her chin rest against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat, it was almost dancing with his. He was at peace. With her in his arms, just here. Breathing. 

Silence balloons around them, and he feels the comforting weight of the nothingness. His heart had calmed, the champagne on his skin had dried, and he was finally with her. His beautiful girl. Charles had just won a race but she didn’t love him because of that - she loved him and he just so happened to have won a race. 

He tightens his arms around her. Here, they're perfect. Nothing more to be said, nothing more to -

“I don’t want to lose this,” her words pop shatter the silence and Charles can’t stop the way his body pulls back. 

She tenses, and before he can apologize or tell her that it just startled him, she’s pushing forward. Her hands found him, bringing them to her chest, “I don’t want to lose you the way you are now.”

“What are you talking about?” He can’t stop the question. 

“I mean this,” She gestures around them, “You’re happy and smiling and you’re…you.”

Charles is sure that confusion takes its form on his face because she lets out a big sigh, “I’m saying, I don’t want racing to change you.”

“Racing made me.”

She purses her lips. That probably wasn’t the right thing to say but Charles can think of nothing else. It’s the truth. Racing made him. He was crafted from oil and smoke, blood and tears, roaring engines and blurring lights. He was the creation of the track, of the world of motorsport - it was his blood. Even if he didn’t want it to be. 

It was everything he was. 

She doesn’t frown, but Charles knows she wants to. 

The air is colder and he hates it.

“You won’t,” He tries, “I promise to make the circles interesting for you.”

She doesn’t smile, she just looks up at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. 

Something in his chest grows tight, “You won’t.”

He pulls her close once more, and she sighs against him. He rests his forehead on hers, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. 

“I promise.”

She stares at him. Her beautiful eyes filled with so much emotion, burning right through him. She can see him, see all of him. There is not a single part of him that he can hide, there isn’t a single part of him that he wishes to hide. He’s open for her to see. 

“I love you, Charlie.”

His mouth goes dry. The words nearly knock him off his feet, but she’s there to steady him. She loves him, his heart begins to drum and he can’t help the smile that pulls across his face or the fireworks erupting within him. 

“I love you and I don’t want to-”

“I love you,” He cups her face, pulling her impossibly closer “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He can’t contain it, the fountain of words, but he doesn’t want to. He wants her to know, needs her to know. 

“I love you.”

Forget everything else. 

__________

He’d lost. Ferrari had screwed him over yet again. It was eating away at him, this was his dream, this had been the only thing he had ever thought about when he was young. He’d finally gotten it, he was here. He was where Jules should have been, where his father wanted him to be - and it was going to shit. 

He stormed into his driver's room, throwing his helmet into the corner of the room. He was a few seconds away from destroying the Ferrari regalia that sat around him, taunting him. The tiffosi hated him, he hated himself. It wasn’t even his fault. 

Charles wanted to scream. 

Anger was hot in his veins, searing his body as he began to tear his overalls off. A stupid tire decision had cost him the entire race, he was forced to watch Verstappen rush past him, snatching victory. His victory. Embarrassment made his face burn, and he pushed his face into the palms of his hands. 

How could this happen? They were just on top, riding the high of the beginning of the season, why was it all starting to fall apart for him? Why now? He was supposed to be the one, he was ‘Il Predestinato’ - it was supposed to be his victory. Charles was the one that was going to drag Ferrari back to the top. It was his job, his dream, his burden. 

This was finally supposed to be their season - all the testing, all the simulator hours, all the meetings, all the changes - it was supposed to be different. But it never was. 

Never with Ferrari. 

“Charles?” He heard a few knocks accompanying the voice, it was Andrea. 

“Leave me alone,” Charles muttered. He was going to feel terrible for talking to Andrea like that tomorrow, but that was for the next day. Today, Charles was allowing himself to wallow in his self-pity. 

He heard the door of his room squeak open and spun around on his heel, anger hot in his veins, “I said -!”

She’s standing there with wide eyes. 

His rage dies in his throat.

“Mon ange…” He steps towards her, the tension releasing from his shoulders when she doesn't step away, “I-I am so sorry. I thought  - thought it was…”

He’s too flustered to fully speak, losing his words. His brain is a mess of french and english. But she doesn’t rush him, she doesn’t even laugh. 

“I know,” She says, closing the door behind her, “They told me you were in here.”

Charles stares up at her, unsure of how to apologize - he doesn’t know what to apologize for. For being a failure? For screaming? For -

“Get out of your head, Charlie,” She whispers, he hadn’t noticed she’d crossed the room. Only snapped from his thoughts at the motion of her hand reaching up to cup his face. Though he yearns to feel her touch he turns away from it. 

He doesn’t deserve it, not now. 

It’s so very embarrassing. To have lost like that in front of her. He wishes the ground would open and swallow him whole. 

“Charles…” She breathes, and the hurt that passes across her face makes him want to scream. 

“I - I,” He finds her eyes again, “I am sorry, I can’t.”

‘How am I supposed to face you like this?’ He doesn’t say. 

She walks up to him, taking his hand in hers. Her skin is warm against his, he can feel the rings on her fingers and the bracelet on her wrist fall against his. She drags him to her, wrapping her arms around his middle. 

“Stop,” She says, “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out, Charlie.”

When he twists his head to the side, unable to look at her, she captures his jaw. She makes him face her, staring her straight in the eyes. 

“Don’t.”

Her eyes are full of unyielding love and fierce passion. She looks so serious - a furrow in her brow - it nearly makes Charles burst into laughter. Her grip on him is tight, and he can feel her fingernails on his chin, but it grounds him. He’s anchored to her and he never wants to leave. He just wants to be here forever. 

With her. 

Without everything else happening outside, just the two of them. Together. In love. Happy. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his voice hoarse. 

“You don’t have to be.”

“But I am,” He reaches up, moving her hand from his face, “I am a failure. I am stupid.

“Charles -” She begins, he can see the anger in her eyes. She hates it when he says things like that, hates when he even jokes like that, but he can’t stop himself this time. 

“I am,” His voice is slipping from him, anger falling into his tone before he can stop it, “I have lost. We were on top of the world and now we are here, I have led us here.”

“How could it all be your fault?” She squeezes him. 

“It is,” He can’t explain it. Truthfully, he doesn’t know it himself, but it is just how it goes, “I have lost, I am nothing.”

“That is not true,” Her voice wobbles, but she keeps her steady composure, eyes fiercer than ever, “You are so much more than just racing. You know that.”

He didn’t. Racing is all he’ll ever be. It’s was he was bred for, he knows nothing else. There is nothing else. 

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Their voices are raising and there’s a small part of his brain that’s worried about others hearing them. The room has little to no real soundproofing. If the tabloids are waiting outside, or even just standing near, this will be all over tomorrow. 

“You are to me.”

Something in Charles snaps. Knowing he’s everything to her, knowing she’s everything to him. But also - with a feeling of dread - knowing that he is nothing without racing. That he is nothing without Ferarri and though he may hate it, he doesn’t know how to live without it. He doesn’t know the world without it. 

But to be with Ferrari is to win. 

He hasn’t. 

“Who would ever want to be near me if I am not champion?!” He screams, “Who would ever love me?!”

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“I would!” Her  eyes glisten with unshed tears, “I will love you no matter what. I will love you even if you never race again, I will love you.”

Charles has nothing to say, breathing heavy as he listens. Her words weigh on his chest and he begins to cry. The tears come and he can’t stop them, not even if he tries. He drops his head into his hands and cries. He doesn’t sob or scream, he just weeps. 

The anger and sadness boil into one, they melt into each other and now, Charles can’t tell the difference. She pulls his hands from his face, and Charles turns away from her. 

He’s so pathetic letting her see him like this. Crying like a child over a race result. 

But she finds his eyes. There are tears in hers too, rolling down her cheeks and it only makes him cry harder. He’s such a -

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispers, pulling him down by his collar, locking her arms around his neck, “My Charlie.”

He’s frozen for a moment before he collapses against her. Weak hands grabbing at her clothing. He sucks in air, trembling lungs unable to do anything else. The smell of her penetrates his lungs and he’s filled with the scent of her perfume. She is air and water. His body feeling at ease with her, in her arms.

She holds him as he cries, hands buried in his hair. He grips onto her, fingers digging into her waist. He’s terrified she’ll float away, that something will take her from him. But she never leaves, cradling him until his cries diminish into sniffles, and his sniffles turn to silence. 

Charles is still full of emotion and it threatens to spill over, but he isn't afraid to show her. Not to be open to the expanse and warmth she provides. 

“I love you,” He breathes. He chants her name like a prayer, following it with, “I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you.

______________

The apartment was silent when Chalres rushed in. The anger, still burning within him. It seemed to be all he could feel these days. Searing hot anger and drowning disappointment.

He was never at peace, there was no calm. The championship had slipped from his fingers and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. It wasn’t even his fault, he’d done his best, put in the hours - the care - but it was so far beyond his hands. Ferrari was his dream and now he was left feeling utterly hopeless. He had never experienced heartbreak like this one, being let down by the very thing he has sacrificed his entire life for. It was all for Ferrari - all of it - and now, he was a loser. 

It fucking sucked. 

Charles pulled his luggage behind him. The break couldn’t come soon enough. He was tired from being out on the road, he just wanted to be home. He wanted to be in his bed, in her arms. He wanted to feel loved, cared for. 

He could feel the ache in his back and his legs, sitting still on a plane was never his favorite thing. The thought of sleep was so wonderfully appealing. As he began to pull his clothes off, dumping his things by the couch, he heard the soft patter of feet. 

Charles couldn’t hold the heavy sigh that left his lips.  

“Charles?” He heard. The light of the hallway flickered on, and she was there, a shadow at first, but then she approached him. There was a smile on her face, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. 

“You’re home,” She breathed. 

He reached for her, body calling for her, but just as he did, he drew himself back. The anger bubbling within him all over again.  

He stood there, crossing his arms, refusing to meet her gaze, “I told you to sleep.”

She waited for him. 

She waited for him and he couldn’t even face her. 

There was a part of him glad she did. Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air, it was resurfacing from the dark ocean of his misery. Just the sight of her face made his heart warm. But those feelings were buried under his anger. He had returned to her a loser. A failure. 

How could he ever face her like this?

“I’m going to bed,” He declared, moving to brush past her.

“Charles,” She called, her voice made him stop in his tracks, stern in its tone. 

He shut his eyes, a sigh escaping past clenched teeth. He was exhausted, he couldn't do this, not right now, “Please.” 

“Please, I - I am tired. I just want to sleep. Tomorrow is a very busy day, test at the factory, then simulator -”

“Tomorrow?” Her eyebrows furrowed and she closed the distance between them, “Charles, tomorrow is -”

“I know,” He raised a defensive hand, hoping to stop the disappointment that rolled from her in waves. It filled the room and only served to make his stomach twist further. God, he really was a piece of shit.

“I have spoken to him. He says that it is fine, and I can always just take him out another day.”

“He’s your brother!” She reached out to touch his arm, staring up at him as if he’d just said the most absurd thing in his life, “He’s been looking forward to this for ages, you can’t just cancel -”

“He will understand!”

Charles continued, “He understands the important things. This he will get.”

For a moment she was silent, and Charles swears that his voice echoed. There was something in her eyes that Charles couldn't make out, it made his palms sweat. He hates this. He hates fighting with her. 

“Family used to be important to you.”

Charles felt like he’d just been slapped in the face. 

Before he could stop himself he screamed, “RACING IS IMPORTANT TO ME! IT IS EVERYTHING!”

She pulled away from him, taking a few steps back. His words hung in the air and Charles wanted nothing more than to take them back. He’d realized it before he could fix it, and when he reached for her, she kept her arm close. 

He whispered her name. It was a prayer, “M-Mon Ange, I -”

“I’ve lost you, Charlie,” Her voice is so soft and thin, it makes Charles want to cry. 

Charles can’t speak. Trying to swallow through the thick ball of emotion curled in his throat, 

“What are you talking about?” He asks. He’s just wasting time now. Just trying to prolong her time with him, maybe even get her to stay, “I - I don’t understand.”

He understands perfectly. She was right. He let this fury consume him, he let the racing consume him. He had no idea where he began and Ferrari ended, he wasn’t even sure he had a place anymore - it had all become one. He was lost. 

But he had never imagined he would let it rip her away from him. 

“Charlie -”

“I - I can fix it,” He rushes, casting his hands out, he reaches for her. He needs her now. He’s drowning and she's all that’s keeping him afloat. 

“Ne pas partir,” - ‘Don’t leave me’ - he begs, “Je ferai tout pour toi…”

‘I will do anything for you.’

She stares up at him. There are tears streaming down her face, her brow furrowed. Her eyes are full of heartbreak, he can see it, he can hear it. And all he wants to do is fix it. 

“I love you, Charlie,” She whispered, “But we’re just - we just can’t right now…”

“We can,” He pulls her closer. Charles needs her to feel him now. He knows he’s all anger and flame, but he needs her to feel the love that resides within him, he’s lost but he will always love her. That will never fade. 

“You’re not mine.”

“I am!” 

“You’re not,” She said, and she didn’t even need to explain, “And that’s okay.”

Charles has nothing else to say. 

He looks in her eyes and knows, there’s nothing else he can say. 

The drive to her apartment is slow, he feels like he’s crawling past the streets, turning into the steep corners. All he can do is wish this moment will stretch on forever, wishing he could keep her there with him forever. 

But it’s over. 

He’s ruined it all. 

When he does reach her building, pulling into the parking lot with a small screech, neither one of them move. Neither of them want to leave - at least, Charles doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want her to walk away, not like this. 

Not when he loves her. 

“I-” He tries, not sure what to say, “I don’t - I am not -”

She reaches over, her hand sliding past the console that separates them, and interlaces their fingers. She doesn’t say anything, doesn't even turn to look at him, but he can see the tears fall down her cheeks. He can see the way they glimmer in the moonlight that seeps in through the windows, he wants to reach over and catch them. 

Charles hates that he’s made her cry. He hates that he’s not strong enough for her, not right now. He hates that he’s made her so miserable, so tired. He loves her. 

Charles loves her more than anything. 

He just wishes he could have picked her over everything. 

They sit in the thick of their feelings, not saying a word to the other. Just there in front of her apartment building, clutching her hand. He prays she understands. That she can just hear the drum of his heartbeat - that she can hear the way it dances for her. That she can see the imprints of her love on his soul - that she sets him alight. That she can feel the way his breaths come easier because she’s around - because she’s the air he breathes. 

He needs her to know. 

There’s a part of him that is sure she does. 

But he doesn’t want to shatter the thread of silence holding them together. He can’t risk losing her. He doesn't want to push her away anymore, he can’t stand to be any further. He knows it’ll kill him. 

He knows -

“I would never ask you to leave racing,” She hasn't looked at him, her voice low. 

Charles wishes that she would just scream, that she would hit him and scream. He wishes she would explode in anger, maybe beg him to change his mind and he would. If she asked him to, he would.

But she would never ask him.

Never because she knows he would. 

Never because she knows it would rip him apart, but he’d do it because she asked. 

“But please,” She pulled his hand close, “Please don’t let them destroy you.”

Her words hang in the air and he can’t stop himself from leaning over the console and kissing her. 

Her lips taste of salt, but he’s not sure if they’re her tears or his.

____________________

A/N:This work has been cross posed on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to requests fics about any of the drivers <3

[dungeonbent]

more than you can chew

"So you want us to take you to the bottom of the dungeon..." Laios muses, nursing the overly sweetened ale that you've just bought a round of.

At first, your impression of the man had been somewhat less than stellar. The easy-going air he has about him, coupled with the enthusiastic way he asked about your home in the western capitol and his overly friendly demeanor, made you slightly wary. But now that business talk has started, he seems to be giving it serious thought.

Laios asks, "Could I maybe get a timeframe on that?"

You say, "I was hoping to enter within the month." You don't have much more time than that. Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you think things might just work out.

Then Laios Touden says, "Yeah, uh. I think we'll have to turn you down on this one?"

He smiles apologetically, as if he hasn't just dashed your heart straight onto the rocks. You stare at him in shock, letting the ambient noise of the tavern and its festival-going patronage fill the silence between you as you struggle to grasp onto what could have possibly gone wrong.

You start to say, "If it's about the money, I can always-"

"Ah- it's really not about the money, I promise!" Laios says, holding his hands up. "It's just... okay, how do I put this..."

You allow some time for the tallman to articulate his response, hands tightening around your own mug. You don't even like to drink. But within the Festival of Lost Hearts, there seems to be some invisible decree that states all of those who so much as step out into the sun ought to have some syrupy alcoholic bullshit liable to destroy more relationships than just that of the body and its liver.

Laios doesn't get to formulate his full response, because his companion takes a pause from downing some of that alcoholic bullshit to cut in with a dry, "Yeah, what you're describing just isn't logistically reasonable."

"How so?" You ask, peeved. You think you've laid out the relevant points quite succinctly, actually. You even provided flow charts! No one can deny you when you have pictures! You are sure there is a law somewhere that says this.

The half-foot- Chilchuck, you think- leans forward, looking entirely unimpressed. "You want us to take you to the bottom of the dungeon on, and I quote, a 'research mission-slash-treasure hunt-slash-general dungeon things', trip. Do you have any idea how vague that all is?"

"That's what this diagram is for," You say, starting to rifle through your papers, "I really have it all well divvied out-"

"And you're basing this off a book?" Chilchuck presses, leaning up to plant an elbow on the table and stare you down. "What makes you think it's even accurate, exactly?"

"I'll have you know that it's written by a very reputable source," You say, trying to keep your hackles from rising. "You can check with all the scholars- R.L. Theras really did disappear in Skaia dungeon--"

"Yeah," Chilchuck interrupts, "and some guy took the real story of some missing adventurers and decided to make a quick buck."

You scoff. Theras's writing style is far too lyrical to be merely any charlatan off the street. "To say such a thing sounds to me like a lack of experience. Perhaps you should live a few more years before making that assertion?"

Chilchuck scowls, the ale sloshing in his skein as he gestures with it, "I am plenty fucking experienced-!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Laios cuts in, putting a large hand on Chilchuck's narrow shoulder. Chilchuck turns a glare towards him as he says, "Chilchuck here's one of the best lockpicks you're gonna get. He's more than experienced." That seems to mollify the smaller man somewhat, though not for long, as Laios continues, "That being said, assuming that the book is real-"

"- are you trying to get scammed again?" Chilchuck hisses, but you elect to ignore him since you... suppose it might make sense why this would seem like a scam, to someone who thought R. L. Theras's work to be fiction.

Laios glances at Chilchuck and Chilchuck appears to back down, sinking back into his seat with a grumble. Laios continues, "Assuming that the book is real, you're not giving us much time to prepare, and no clear goal to actually prepare for. It's like... just asking us to bring a bunch of rations down and survive, and nothing else."

"Is that a bad thing?" You ask.

Laios and Chilchuck both look at each other. You do not appreciate whatever secret message they appear to be communicating to each other with their eyes. You wish you had any kind of mental magic to take a peek into what it could be. Or any magic at all.

"Say, Kanaya," Laios says, "have you ever actually... been to a dungeon?"

"Not before yesterday." You say honestly, "But I've been reading about them."

"Okay, so. The big thing about making a trip into a dungeon successful is having a clear plan on how long you're in the dungeon, and how you're going to get out. How long did it take R. L. to get to the bottom?"

Is this a pop quiz now? Somewhat confused, you answer, "Two months."

"And their only goal was to reach the bottom of the dungeon," Laios says, "No layovers for extra research and no extra treasure hunting. So how long do you think it'll take to reach the bottom if you have all that other stuff to do on top of it?"

You start to deflate. "... Longer."

"And getting back?"

"Does your sister not have a teleportation spell...?"

"If she can't use it for whatever reason, I mean."

You feel like sinking into the floor. "Even longer."

"There you go," Chilchuck says, raising his glass. "What you're asking for assumes that nothing's going to happen and that nothing will go wrong. In the dungeon where everything goes wrong constantly. That's a death wish."

You're starting to feel rather foolish, and rather desperate. You know you haven't been entirely forthcoming about the true nature of your desired trip into the dungeon, but even still...

"What if," You ask, despite yourself, "it was to... save someone?"

This catches Laios's attention. He asks, gently, "Save who...?"

"I don't know." And that's the truth.

Chilchuck heaves a sigh and says, "Well, that'd need even more planning- unless you know the exact place their corpse is- and who the corpse even is- you could be canvasing those floors for weeks..."

"What if they're alive?" You ask.

Chilchuck clicks his tongue. "Yeah. That's... kind of doubtful." He pauses, then sets his mug aside. "Sorry. We really wouldn't be able to help you with that."

You all lapse back into silence and you stare at your plans, trying to figure out how you can still salvage this. Porrim gave you six months to find what you've come for in Skaia's dungeon, and you know that if you don't leave in time, the Canaries may well follow. The Touden party are the most qualified party you've spoken to today. If they think this is an impossible task...

"Hey," Laios says, "wanna get something to eat? My treat!"

"Oh, no," You start, "I couldn't possibly-"

"You may as well eat something- it's not like there's anything else to do at a party," Chilchuck says, starting to flag down someone carrying two large trays of bowls, weaving through the throng of unruly patrons.

You have no recourse to deny the men their meager offer of comfort. You're still slightly bitter at having been shut down so soundly, but the stew that's served is warming. It is a dish the locals call 'bukenade', bowl filled with tender pieces of goat meat falling apart under the slightest pressure of a spoon into a savory, fragrant broth which seemed tinged with just the barest hint of sweetness from verjus.

It's only somewhat into the meal, after you start to feel a bit better, when Chilchuck clears his throat and offers, "You talk to Vans yet?"

"Hm?" You hum through a mouthful of food, covering your mouth as you're caught mid-chew like a startled animal.

"For your job." Chilchuck adds.

You swallow and shake your head. Though the name does sound somewhat familiar for some reason... "I don't know who that is."

"So there's this guy," Chilchuck says, and you nod, because you did assume it was some kind of guy. "His name's Karkat Vans. He and his lockpick buddy have a party together. Can't say I see eye to eye with him on everything, but... kid's good at what he does. He gets people to listen to him." Chilchuck leans back, "If he can do that, he might be able to help you out."

There's a glimmer of hope that strikes you when you hear that. You look at Chilchuck and say, "I'll have to do that. Thank you, Chilchuck... sir." Gods, you sound so awkward. You hope he doesn't say anything.

Chilchuck doesn't say anything, but he does roll his eyes a little. "Yeah, yeah. Don't mention it."

[piiiiinkheart]

Babymetal at Rising Sun Rock festival

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

What would happen to Baelon and his mother after Maegor dies?

Baelon spent his entire life watching his mother suffer and attempting to save her. Maegor was the main reason for her suffering and he hated him for it but he was still his father.

Baelon would do everything in his power to keep the throne for himself because then his mother would be the Queen mother and no other woman would suppress her power. Baelon is no idiot though and knows his cousins would try to take the thrones.

Maegor’s wish did come true and Baelon does claim Balerion the black dread and that was his biggest advantage to the throne. Baelon’s first move was to win the people over by throwing festivities and doing charities. Even going as far as letting peasants into the Red Keep to meet him personally. Baelon knows that power comes with respect not fear.

Then his next move is to end the feud with his cousins and that ensues with his marriage to Alysanne, this way he unites the family once more, his uncle’s blood will be on the throne, his uncle’s wife will not be able to harm him seeing as he is her son in law and also his mother would accept the marriage since marrying cousins was not seen as incest.

Baelon is not cruel and knows that Alysanne is still a child so he vows in their private quarters that he will not touch her before she is of age and ready. Baelon however made it very clear that he plans on resuming the blood line and having children and Alysanne was on board considering the fact that I vision her mother convincing her to bring heirs to the throne so their blood would rise to the throne.

Baelon is a strong king, however he is both brains and muscle, he uses strategy to ensure wining the Dornish war instead of battle like Maegor. The second his firstborn was confirmed to be a daughter who named Vaenora he travels to Dorne to make a marriage pact later on known as the sun and moon marriage alliance for Vaenora’s hair was compared to the moon in color once she married the Dornish prince and moved to live in Dorne.

Baelon is a traditional man so his three daughter Vaenora, Saelys and Elaenerys were pushed back in line for the throne in favor of their younger brother Rhaelor. Baelon and Alysanne were blessss with seven children, after their three daughter and son they were blessed with twin daughters named Lucenya and Daegelle followed by a son named Aelyx. After they had the heir and spare they ceased having anymore children.

Baelon was the king to unite the seven kingdoms by ensuring to marry his five daughter to five different kingdoms, Vaenora to Dorne, Saelys to the Stormlands, Elaenerys to the North, Lucenya to the mountain and the Vale, and Daegelle to the Reach. His eldest son and heir married from the rock and his youngest for the isles and rivers. Baelon was a smart kind yet a strong one, not one to shy from a fight or a war, always joining the tourneys until his age betrayed him and winning almost every time and never failing to crown his lady wife Queen Alysanne his Queen of love and beauty never once embarrassing her in public or private.

Baelon’s mother’s wish if him falling in love never came true but Baelon was content with his wife and children. He never complained and he never once disrespected them or made them feel less than Queen and Princesses and princes.

His mother passed away during his tenth year as king failing to meet his five youngest children. Baelon gave his mother a funeral that will be remembered for centuries to come. Her body was dressed in the purest of whites, silks and laces. A crown of winter flowers upon her head and a bouquet of roses in her hands. Every finger adorned with rings of all shapes and sizes that were hiring with her.

Her corpse was paraded around the streets for people to pay respect with him in the lead with his crown on his head. A crown she had designed herself for him and placed on his head during his wedding as a gift. Alysanne flew her dragon above their heads before meeting Baelon at the Sept and witnessing the funeral. Baelon never truly recovered from her death. He build a statue of his mother in the gardens of the keep and was usually found their during hard times. Some servants swore they heard him talk to the statue, asking for advise.

Baelon went on to be loved and respected as a son, husband, father and king.

[thelanternsglow]

Winter Solstice, Yule and Christmas; Understanding both.

The Winter Solstice is not just a date on the calendar; it is a pause written into the fabric of the cosmos. It marks the longest night, the point where darkness seems to stretch its hands as far as they will go. And yet, it is not an end. It is a beginning. The earth, tilted on its axis, reaches the farthest edge of its dance with the sun, and then, quietly, imperceptibly, turns back. It is the birth of light from darkness. The spark of life emerging from stillness.

To understand the Solstice is to remember a time when humans lived closer to the land and the sky—when the sun wasn’t just a celestial body but the source of all life. Without modern distractions, our ancestors would have watched it inch lower and lower, felt the darkness close in around them, and wondered: Would it rise again? And when the Solstice came, when the sun stood still and began its slow ascent, it must have felt like a miracle. A promise. This is why the Solstice is sacred. It is the very rhythm of survival—of endings giving way to beginnings, of death making space for rebirth.

In the astrological wheel, this moment occurs as the sun enters Capricorn, ruled by Saturn—the great keeper of time and wisdom. Saturn governs boundaries, discipline, and the inevitable cycles of life. It teaches that all things come to pass, and that endings are not failures but necessary steps in the turning of the wheel. This is what the Winter Solstice asks of us: to pause, to reflect, and to honour what has fallen away so that we can step into what comes next. Capricorn’s earth energy is steady and enduring. Like the bare branches of the oak, it teaches us to strip back to what is essential.

In many ways, this Solstice moment reflects a truth deeper than the seasons or the stars: that darkness is not to be feared. It is fertile. It is full of potential. Beneath the frozen ground, seeds lie dormant. In the stillness of winter, the trees pull their energy inward, conserving strength to burst forth in spring. The Solstice reminds us that growth requires rest, and that even in our darkest nights, something is stirring.

The myths and rituals surrounding the Solstice—whether we call it Yule, Saturnalia, or the birth of Christ—are humanity’s way of marking this great cosmic truth. In Norse lands, the festival of Yule honoured the rebirth of the sun. Fires were lit to echo its light and warmth. The great Yule log burned for days, a symbol of endurance and hope. Evergreens, with their unyielding life, were brought into homes to remind people that even in the heart of winter, the earth holds life.

In Rome, the Solstice brought Saturnalia, a festival in honour of Saturn, the god of time and agriculture. It was a time of reversal—roles swapped, masters served their servants, and merriment reigned. Even in chaos, there was a cosmic order at play: the death of the old year made way for the new one.

The story of Jesus Christ, layered onto this ancient framework, speaks to the same eternal rhythm. The Christ child, born into a dark and troubled world, emerges as a light of hope and salvation. The star of Bethlehem, guiding the wise men through the night, is a continuation of the celestial story. A divine light born in darkness, promising renewal to the world. The Christian narrative is not an opposition to the Solstice but an extension of its message. The “Son of God” arrives as the sun begins its ascent, mirroring the cosmic dance of light and shadow.

But this story is older still. Across millennia, we see the same pattern: the dying god reborn, the light emerging from the dark. In Egypt, Horus, the falcon-headed child of light, rises after his father Osiris’ death. In Persia, the god Mithras, born from a rock on the Solstice, conquers darkness and death. These myths, though varied, speak to the same archetype: that which falls will rise again.

The Winter Solstice is a moment of profound truth: that the darkness is not the enemy. It is a womb. It is a place of rest, reflection, and transformation. Modern life teaches us to resist it, to fill every moment with noise and light, but the Solstice calls us to something deeper. It invites us to embrace the stillness. To trust in the unseen. To honour what is ending and make space for what will be born.

In this way, the Solstice is not just an astronomical event. It is a spiritual one. The earth pauses, and so should we. It is a time to tend to the inner fire—the light that we carry within us. To sit by candlelight, to reflect on the year that has passed, and to dream of what we will bring forth as the days lengthen. It is a time to plant the seeds of intention, knowing they will lie dormant for now, but they will rise in their own time, just as the sun does.

So as the longest night falls, step outside. Stand under the winter sky, where the stars seem brighter in the cold, and feel it: the stillness. The promise. You are standing in the pause between what was and what will be. The light will return—it always does. And like the sun, you too can be reborn.

The Winter Solstice is the still point in the wheel of the year. It’s the longest, darkest night—a moment that feels suspended in time. For days leading up to it, the sun appears weak, lingering low in the sky. The shadows stretch longer, the cold seeps in, and the natural world pulls inward, conserving what little energy remains. It’s as though the earth itself holds its breath.

And yet, in this darkest hour, there’s a quiet miracle. The sun doesn’t disappear. Instead, it pauses—almost as if it’s gathering strength—and begins its journey back toward light. The days that follow will stretch imperceptibly longer, a minute here, a sliver there, but the promise is made: the light will return. This is why the Winter Solstice has always been revered as the “birth of the sun”—the rebirth of hope in a time when everything else seems frozen and still.

The astrology of this moment ties in beautifully. The Solstice marks the sun’s entry into Capricorn, the cardinal earth sign ruled by Saturn. Now, Saturn often gets a bad rap—it’s the planet of discipline, limits, and time—but its gifts are invaluable. Saturn teaches us patience. It shows us the importance of reflection, of tending to what truly matters. Capricorn energy is quiet but relentless. It’s about building strong foundations, even when no one’s watching—like roots strengthening under snow. The Winter Solstice, then, isn’t just about rebirth; it’s about setting intentions for what we’ll nurture as the light grows stronger.

Of course, long before clocks and calendars, ancient peoples knew this. They may not have understood the mechanics of the solar system, but they watched the skies with reverence. They knew that when the days stopped shortening, something profound was happening: the return of the sun, the source of all life. And so they honoured it.

In the Norse lands, this became Yule, a twelve-day festival that celebrated the sun’s rebirth. Fires were kindled to chase away the dark, and great logs were burned—the original Yule log—symbolising light’s triumph over the shadows. Evergreen branches, symbols of resilience and life, were brought indoors. Feasts were shared, and offerings were made to gods and ancestors, calling on their blessings to see people through the cold months ahead. The message was clear: in the depth of winter, life endures, and the light will rise again.

Now, when Christianity swept through Europe, it recognised the Solstice’s importance in the spiritual and cultural rhythms of the people. But rather than erase these traditions, the Church wove its own mythology into them. Enter the story of Jesus Christ, the divine child born in darkness to bring light to the world. Sound familiar? The parallels are undeniable.

In Christian tradition, Jesus is often called the Light of the World, and his birth, marked with stars and shepherds watching their flocks by night, feels deeply rooted in the natural symbolism of the Solstice. This wasn’t accidental. The early Church deliberately set Christmas close to the Winter Solstice, aligning it with the ancient rhythm of the sun’s rebirth. The “Son” of God emerging as the sun began its ascent—it’s a beautiful and poetic overlay.

But this story—the light returning in the darkest moment—is far older than Christianity. You’ll find echoes of it in the myths of Mithras, the Persian sun god, celebrated at the time of the Solstice. In ancient Egypt, there’s Horus, the child god of light. The Romans, too, held Saturnalia during this time—a festival in honour of Saturn, the god of agriculture, where roles were reversed, and revelry reigned. Each of these stories, in their own way, celebrates the same truth: that the sun, or the divine light, will always rise again.

What’s happening here is cosmic, timeless, and deeply human. The stars tell the same story, over and over. The Winter Solstice marks the death of the old year and the first breath of the new one. It reminds us that darkness isn’t something to be feared; it’s part of the process. The light returns because of the darkness, not in spite of it. The sun must descend before it can rise again.

In our modern lives, it’s easy to miss this sacred rhythm. But if you step outside on the Solstice night—if you stand in the cold, beneath a sky full of stars—you’ll feel it. That stillness. That pause. The world holds its breath, and for a moment, everything feels aligned.

The Winter Solstice isn’t just about celebrating the return of the sun. It’s about recognising the light within ourselves, too. In the darkness, we reflect. We rest. We plant the seeds of what we’ll grow when the light is strong enough to nurture it. It’s a reminder that, like the sun, we can be reborn.

So whether you light candles, share a feast, or simply sit quietly with a warm drink, know that you’re part of something ancient—older than any story, yet woven into all of them. The Winter Solstice teaches us to trust the cycles, to endure the dark, and to know that the light will always find its way back.

Similarities and differences between Yule and Xmas

Yule and Christmas are both rooted in the deep rhythms of the natural world, though their symbolism and meanings differ in many ways, particularly in how they evolved and the cultural contexts they belong to. Both celebrate the return of light after the darkest time of the year, but the ways they express that hope and joy tell different stories.

The Heart of Yule

Yule is an ancient festival that comes from pre-Christian winter celebrations, especially in Northern Europe, where it was tied to the Winter Solstice—the longest night of the year. In many Pagan traditions, Yule is the moment when the sun is reborn, marking the victory of light over darkness. This is a time of renewal and rebirth, symbolised by the returning sun and the promise that the days will soon grow longer.

The symbolism of Yule is all about the turning of the seasons. The Yule log, once burned in the hearth, is a central symbol—representing warmth, light, and the nurturing of the land through the harsh winter. Evergreens, like holly, ivy, and mistletoe, are also important symbols. They stay green during the cold months and were seen as representing life and protection against the harshness of winter.

In many ancient cultures, the sun’s rebirth was central to Yule. The sun, thought to be weak and far from the earth during the cold months, was believed to “return” at the Winter Solstice. This was a time for honoring the light, as well as for quiet reflection and preparing for the growth and fertility of the coming year.

The Birth of Christmas

Christmas, as we know it, developed later, influenced by Christianity, but also by older, pre-Christian winter celebrations. Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ, which in Christian theology represents the coming of the divine light into the world. The nativity story echoes the themes of rebirth that are central to Yule, as it tells of the light of Christ entering a dark world.

Many of the symbols associated with Christmas, like the Christmas tree, the Yule log, and evergreens, have roots in these older, Pagan traditions. In fact, the Christmas tree itself is a direct descendant of the Yule tree, which was decorated with candles, apples, and other offerings to honour the life and light of the season.

Christmas also incorporates elements from Solstice traditions, like the gift-giving tradition, which was part of Yule feasts and exchanges, and the feasting that was common at this time of year, as communities gathered to share warmth and abundance.

Similarities Between Yule and Christmas

The biggest similarity between Yule and Christmas is that they both revolve around the return of light after the longest night. Whether through the rebirth of the sun in Yule or the birth of Christ in Christmas, both holidays celebrate the idea that the darkness is giving way to the light.

Evergreens—holly, ivy, mistletoe, and fir—are deeply symbolic of both Yule and Christmas. They represent life persisting through the cold, and they’re used in decorations and rituals to invite vitality and protection into homes during the winter months. Both Yule and Christmas also honour familial bonds, with gatherings, feasts, and a sense of community being central to the spirit of both.

Differences Between Yule and Christmas

While both Yule and Christmas celebrate the return of light, the difference lies in their emphasis and the meaning behind that light. Yule is a celebration of the natural world’s rhythms, the balance between light and dark, and the cycles of the earth. It is a festival that honours the earth, nature, and the sun itself. In contrast, Christmas focuses on the divine light—the birth of Christ and the salvation he offers. It’s a more spiritual celebration, focusing on faith, hope, and the Christian message of peace and goodwill.

The way the two holidays are celebrated also differs. Yule tends to have a more nature-based, earthy feel, with rituals like decorating Yule trees, burning Yule logs, and making offerings to the land. It’s about connecting to the natural forces at work, to the earth itself, and to the cycles of the year. Christmas, especially in modern times, has become more commercialised and centred around themes of family, giving, and joyful celebration. The nativity story takes centre stage, and the holiday often revolves more around the Christian tradition of honouring the birth of Jesus.

The Importance of Understanding Both

Understanding the symbolism of both Yule and Christmas offers a deeper appreciation of the way our cultures and celebrations evolve over time. It helps us see how ancient traditions, grounded in the natural world, were absorbed into newer religious contexts. By recognising the shared themes—like rebirth, light, and hope—we can find common ground between the different ways we mark the seasons.

For those who celebrate Yule in a Pagan or nature-based way, it’s important to understand how much of the energy and symbolism of the season has been incorporated into the Christian Christmas celebration, even if the specifics have shifted. Christmas, at its roots, shares a deep connection with the natural world’s cycles and the symbolic return of light, which was central to Yule.

So, in the end, Yule and Christmas remind us of the same thing: that after the dark comes the light, that death gives way to rebirth, and that even in the coldest, darkest times, warmth and light will always return. Whether you celebrate Christmas or Yule, or both, they offer a chance to reflect on this eternal cycle, to honour the light within and around us, and to celebrate the return of hope after a long winter.

Follow the Lantern’s

Glow

[quillsandblades]

when you get this, list 5 sounds that the world around us makes that u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool, but no pressure!) ♥️⚔️

Thanks for the ask sunny, that's quite an interesting one!!

Hmm let's see, idk if they'll make sense and I might get off topic in between but you asked first so get ready for a rant 🙃

The sound of rivers (especially the fast flowing ones) and streams. Firstly, it's the nature, the beauty of it. There's calm in a river's chaos, in its constant noise of splash and flow. The crystal clear waters, sometimes blue and sometimes sea green, showing glistening round rocks where it's shallow enough. You stand in there and feel the river beat against your ankles, ice cold. And to me, it's like a long forgotten home (it might sound stupid ok, but that's just how I feel). And I've got a lot of good memories near rivers and streams, so whenever I see or hear one I feel way too happy. You can just sit in, dangle your feet in the water and forget about the world for a while, and just live.

The birds chirping in the early morning, when the sun is rising. It's the clearest sound when all else is silent, hundreds of birds, their hundreds of voices, all greeting the sun. To me it feels like time has stopped for a while and even the universe has gone still to catch its breath. It's the timelessness that I love, I can breathe without a worry for a while, I can think about this and that. Even the birds are chirping in ease. (Interestingly, the sound of the birds in the evening makes me anxious. Some of the calls are drawn out, others are hurried. They're all rushing to their nests as if it's all one big race. It's a signal that the day has ended. It's over for now. Whatever I managed to do today was all I achieved and it leaves me with a sense of urgency I really don't like)

A baby or a child's laughter. I think I don't even have to explain this one. Children's joy is a very pure kind of joy, so whenever a child laughs it makes me feel that if there's something capable of making a baby happy in this world, then things really aren't all that bad. And besides, their giggles are so damn contagious, I always fail to hold in my own laughter seeing them like that.

A rooster crowing. This one cuz it brings back good memories, I've had roosters around my house since I was basically three. I'm used to hearing them crow and let me tell you, their calls are certainly not confined to the sunrise only. I've had many sleepless nights bcz they were up all the damn time and crowing after every ten minutes and then they never made a single sound when the sun rose. I've come to believe they do it whenever they're in the mood, the sun really isn't a factor. But it's nice to have them around. All the roosters we've had up till now always attack my brother a lot whenever he comes out - as I said, good memories 🙂

And then there's noise a certain crowd makes. I'm not a fan of loud places or huge noisy crowds, but what I'm talking about here is the relived chatter of students when they leave the exam hall, the whooping and cheers during a class party or a festival, the ruckus of voices talking over one another along with songs and laughter woven in during trips. It's a mark of the time we're spending together, making memories, living the best of the life. It would make me sad to know I'm not gonna have this kind of chaos one day in life

[westeroslive]

when the sun rises in the west,   the  gods  eyes  are  drawn.  may  the  seven  have  mercy  upon  you  as  we  welcome  you  to  court,  lord gerion lannister, liege visenya targaryen !  now  a  victim  of  the  court,  the  bards  compare  your beauty  to  sam reid, emma d'arcy as  you  play  the  game  in  the  midst  of  seasoned  nobles.

behave  and  follow  the  queen's  word  written  in  our  checklist  and  submit  your  account  within  24 hours.  

𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         sam reid,  41,  cis man,  he/him.    announcing  the  arrival  of  GERION  of  house  LANNISTER,  the  RULING LORD of CASTERLY ROCK.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  CHARISMATIC and  ARROGANT in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  sword fighting.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  a great lion perched upon a rock, a gold coin flipping effortlessly between fingers, poison drops slipped into a festive drink, teeth marks upon soft skin.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  THE  LANNISTERS.          (  ooc  :  javvy,  32,  she/her,  cst )

the ruling lord must be 40 to match his twin's age

࣪𓏲ּ  ֶָ  𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         emma d’arcy,  29,  non-binary,  they/them.    announcing  the  arrival  of  VISENYA  of  house  TARGARYEN,  the  LEIGE  of  CASTAMERE  .  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  HEADSTRONG and  STUBBORN  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  dragonriding.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  being a ‘lone wolf’ whilst craving the company of others, calloused hands from holding onto rope too tightly, crooked smiles appearing during inappropriate times, a candle wick that refuses to light.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  loyalties  truly  lie  with  THE  TARGARYENS  (  ooc  :  jay,  27,  they/them,  gmt  ) hiii i’m back<3

[cevans-is-classic]

Chapter Two: Old Friends

Catch the beginning of their journey here: Galaxy Eyes.

Chapter One: Lost Stars

Lights flashed overhead, blinking on and off as smoke filled the hallway. He hears screams in the distance, several voices mingling together. He needs to single out one, hoping to let it lead him towards the owner. The hallway was long, his feet rushing to catch up with the length of it. The screams were getting louder, longer. He could hear the pleading in the surrounding voices.

“You can’t run!” a deep voiced echoed around him, “No matter where you go I will find you! All of you. Traitors.” The voice was growing deeper, spreading down the hall. Footfalls sounded in the distance. Grogu followed the noise, keeping himself focused on his surroundings.

“STOP!”

A streak of white ran past him. Grogu turned to follow it but stopped when another rush of color followed.

“Go!” Blood was dripping from the followers’ fingers. “Now! Go.”

The streak of white turned around and Grogu stopped in his tracks.

Mata.

-

It'd took an hour before Grogu relaxed and took a deep breath in. Bo watched his hands rest on his knee. She stayed quiet so as not to disturb the child.

When one of Grogu's hands moved to touch something before him, Bo knew he was under.

“I'll leave you to it, little guy.” She spoke to him in a calm voice rising from her seat. The solid thud of her boots hitting the floor of the ship made her wince. She turned back to check on Grogu. He was still sitting with his eyes closed and hand in the air.

Good.

Bo stepped off the ship and blocked the blue light beamed down on her. Dank Ferrick, this place is miserable — humidity clogged her throat and stuck to the skin of her cheeks.

She took a deep breath, ignoring the cough that burned in her throat. There didn't seem to be any threats around them, and the clearing there was quiet.

She checked the sides of the ship coming back inside to double check supplies.

A slip of purple made her freeze.

It's silky when she touches it and it smells like sooner bean flower. The floral, sweet scent made her think of nights curled up on her father's lap. The sounds of Mandalore below their home and the warmth she felt in her home.

Bo wanted to bury herself in the fabric, but pulled back instead. It's a wrap, at least a slip of one. It wrapped around her palm twice the purple color shifting under the light. She could feel the coolness of the fabric through her gloves.

This is yours

Bo sat it back on the shelf and closed the door.

There's two cubbies on the ship, a small one with a cramped pallet on the floor and a blanket shoved into the corner. This must be Din Djarin’s cubbie.

This is not where he sleeps.

The larger space had a pallet big enough for two with a green hammock hanging above them. One blanket hung off the pallet, with two pillows wrinkled on top of each other.

There's a shelf built into the corner and Bo saw the mix of coverings.

She smiled.

She closed the hatch, making sure it locked in place then moved back towards the hull.

Grogu was still sitting with his eyes closed.

Bo took another deep breath in when sat back down next to the child.

“You better be okay, trouble.” She whispered to the stars.

-

The sun was midway through the sky when they emerged from a throng of trees to see a rock formation with a door.

Also, someone in red coverings standing at the mouth of it. Their arms crossed and from here he can see the way their hands bunched into fists.

Djarin slowed his steps. The person looked familiar, the familiar way they held themselves steady. A dark swatch of hair sparking something inside his memory..

The med droid stopped when the person walked out of the hole and came towards Djarin.

“Mandalorian.”

He looked her over. “Re.” It’s the woman from the festival. The one you took off to talk to. It tickled the back of his brain, thinking of the interaction.

“My name is Ritu. Might as well know it now. Did Gal visit you as well?”

“It seems.”

“I wasn’t sure what they were talking about the first time they dreamed of you. They talked about a man in shining armor — I always told them it’s not a fairy tale from the galaxy’s past. They would smile, through all the pain, the long nights, Nightmares tearing them from their sleep — they smiled because they saw, well, they saw you.”

Djarin didn’t know how to reply.

You’d told him about the dreams of him and Grogu. He’d lay awake at night wondering how long you’d had visions of them — if you saw him saving Grogu before he knew it himself. Did you know about his future? His path?

There were a million and one questions running through his mind, racing each other to see who can get to the finish line.

If he’d ask any of the questions swimming in his mind, would he get answers? Actual answers?

How many times did you see his face in a way Noone else ever could?

You told him time and time again that you saw him past the beskar — that you saw him with different names and identities. Living lives he’d never imagined and not once did you make him question his creed.

With a shake of his head he focused On Ritu once more “Is this the part where you explain who you are?”

“It seems.” She parroted back to him before turning on her heel and stepping back into the enclosure. Djarin waited for a beat, then followed her. Lights lined the ceiling twisted into embedded roots.

It was colder inside, the crisp air filling his lungs and cooling off his body. He took a moment to close his eyes in relief. Ritu was sitting down at an odd shaped table, two chairs sat opposite of each other. When Djarin stayed where he was, the woman rolled her eyes and motioned to the chair, “Might as well sit, Mandalorian.”

Something about the way she said Mandalorian made his stomach clench.

It sounded like you.

Djarin sat.

Ritu looked up, the ceiling made of tangled roots. A few droplets of water dripped onto the stone floor. “I used to be an imperial officer.” She dropped her chin. “I’d been rallied into the imperial forces when a rebel killed my Father. I believed they were monsters and wanted people to be harmed for a war that shouldn’t exist. When they assigned me to Amadeus’s, I went.”

She went quiet and looked back up at the rooted ceiling. “Then the order came.”

Djarin balked. The order. When the clones turned on the Jedi and killed the future padawans.

“Their-”

He didn’t know what to say after that.

Amadeus.

He’d heard the name before. Heard you whisper it in your sleep or mention in a passing way, “He’s the one they needed protection from.” It came out in a whisper, but it brought Ritu’s gaze to him.

There’s something else that is dragging through his mind.

Amadeus?

He clicked his tongue, “What can you tell me about him?”

“Amadeus? I can tell you he’s a piece of work. His father was on the ground when The Order went into action. There was a mark on Gal’s family. I believe — and this isn’t a solid fact — that Gal had an older sibling who was a padawan as well, if the records are correct; Amadeus and his men brought families in. They used children who — they — it was awful.” Ritu’s voice trailed off.

Djarin felt his blood turn to ice.

With a heavy breath, Ritu looked at him. Gal was one of the few to survive the experiments — they developed an attachment to their handlers. When Amedaus recognized this, he used it to his advantage."

“Their brother.” You mentioned him in passing, leaving him confused but unwilling to ask more.

“Brother is a strong word.” She frowned, “I — when I learned there was a cease and a desist on the program — I knew they were going to kill them. Kill all of them. I couldn’t let that happen so me and Ashha-”

“Ashha?” He echoed.

Ritu nodded. “That’s how they became a medic. When the cease and desist came through both of us knew what was going to happen. Gal — Gal was the only one we got out.”

“You and Ashha?”

“Gal helped.” A twitch of a smile pulled their lips up.

He took this in. “What else can you tell me? Do you know if he’s the one who took them?”

Ritu considered his question for a moment. “I’ve kept tabs on Amadeus as much as I kept tabs on Gal. When Ashha said she was going to Nevarro to keep an eye, well, I visited from time to time. When I heard he found their location? — I had to warn Gal somehow, and I knew they’d see me coming.”

“The Atlas Rising festival.”

Ritu nodded again. "Before we got them out, they made me promise not to come looking for them." Her dark eyes swept across the leaking ceiling, lip caught between her teeth. "They knew I wouldn't keep that promise."

"Gal asked me to stay-" He squeezed his hands into fists, feeling Grogu squirm in his lap, "They asked me to stay and I told them we'd be back by morning."

You'd lifted on your tiptoes — pressed your lips to his helmet and smiled. There were tears in your eyes and he almost said yes, almost walked back to the house, didn't fly, didn't take the job.

Almost.

“How are you meant to help us?” It came out clipped. Ice coated his tongue and the taste of it make his throat burn.

Ritu looked at him for several Moments then rose. She walked around the table to a trunk. Every surface covered in scratches the off blue color closer to a gray hue.

She moved the trunk closer to him, unlocking it and opening the seal. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't clothing.

"These were what they had Gal in." Ritu pulled a white tunic out, blood staining the collar. “Each set has a DNA encrypted chip along the collar. It helps them keep track of their progress, vital signs and, of course the location. They needed to make sure nothing interfered with the testing. It — that flaw in our plan is how they found Gal the first time-'' Ritu stumbled. She sat the tunic on the table and Djarin saw the tear, and a port indention for a chip.

Ritu continued, "They took it out and swallowed it. We tried to stop them, but they said as long as it's moving — we're safe."

"The bounty hunters-"

"The last place Gal stayed in before we got them to you was here. This place makes it difficult to track anything. No signal can get past the atmosphere — it's the perfect place to hide."

"In the middle of an imperial base camp?"

"The middle of a hidden Imperial Basecamp that should have burned down fifteen years ago. The people here? They don't talk. When the bounty for them finished-"

Djarin nodded, “When Grogu and I signed them over.”

Ritu nodded back. “The only thing left to do was get rid of their biological fingerprint.” She flipped the tunic inside out, a half-stitched numerical code ran along the cuff,

He remembered your sleep ramblings, your moments of disassociation as Ashha would lean over you with a light. You weren’t stating points you’d seen in your dreams — you knew her.

“Why didn’t they tell me about this?”

A strangled smile crawled across Ritu’s face. They didn’t want you to know. Said it wasn’t safe and Gal-”

“Gal is never wrong.”

A melancholy feeling swept over the room. Djarin stared at the bloodied collar, reaching out to trace the seam near the arm. You had a scar there. He only noticed it when he’d helped clean you up after your sickness.

You said you couldn’t remember how you got it.

Djarin said it looked like a blade mark.

“Agree to disagree, Din Djarin. I’ve seen Gal be wrong before — let’s hope now is one of those times.”

He had to save you.

“Gal, led me here. They showed up in my dreams and said there was someone here who could help us. Is that you?”

Ritu didn’t answer.

He gritted his teeth, “If you care about them-”

“Don’t!” Anger burst forth, rage burning in her eyes as her lip curled, and she leaned close to him. “I was there for Gal every chance I could be. I protected them.”

“Of course you did.” The fury he knew how to handle.

Ritu stiffened, “If they sent you here it’s for a reason and if that reason means saving them? Nothing Is going to stop me, Mandalorian.”

“Good.” He rose. “Then show me where to go next.”

Ritu held up a hand to stop him. “I need to meet with Ashha.”

Djarin waited for a beat. “Where is she heading?”

"To find the moon port Amadeus's base is located. It's just outside of the outer rim, but it's uncharted. I can send you the jump location when we find it." Ritu was on her feet before the sentence finished, moving to the side of the room and shuffling through the box she extracted the tunic from.

Djarin watched as she took out an Imperial officer suit, the symbol shiny and bright despite the color reflected in the light.

He felt his eye twitch, but stayed silent. You trusted her. He needs to trust her.

"Alright." She loaded a blaster, strapped it to her leg, and tossed the uniform over her shoulder. "Let's go."

-

Djarin peeked behind Bo-Katan to peer into the hull.

“He’s napping.”

“Did he?”

“I’m not sure. He stayed in the meditation state for close to an hour, then just fell asleep. I woke him up long enough to make sure he was okay then out like a light.” Bo-Katan’s gaze landed on Ritu.

Djarin stepped forward To angle himself between them, “This Is the friend Gal sent us to find. Ritu.” He tipped his helmet, “She helped Gal escape.”

“Your name sounds familiar.” Bo-Katan raised her nose.

Ritu nodded, “It should. I was an imperial officer.”

Bo-Katan tenses, her hand lifting, but Djarin stops her. “She’s the one who helped Gal escape the first time. She’s who they sent me to find? He motioned to her. “Gal sent me to find her because noone else knows them better.”

“Yeah?” Bo-Katan straightened.

Ritu met her gaze, holding it steady, and the glint in her eye seemed familiar uncannily. “You helped Gal the first time?”

She dropped her chin in greeting, “I had help and that help is waiting for me to meet them.”

“What are we doing?” She aimed her words at Din Djarin.

“Ritu is meeting Ashha with our end of the tracker. They find the last location and meet up with them. We need to keep attempting to contact.” He whispered an afterthought

Bo- Katan frowned, “I don’t like that plan. I’m sorry, but we don’t know you and we’re supposed to trust that you’ll help us find Gal?” She stepped forward, hand moving to her waist as Ritu took a step back to avoid being bumped by Din Djarin’s shoulder.

“I assure, Bo- Katan Kryze, finding Gal is the only thing I care about. Finding them, getting them back to their home and to you. The closest thing to a second thought is that we take down the entire program and burn it to the ground.” The woman looked up at Bo Katan for a beat longer.

Din Djarin shook his head, moving around his friend to go check on Grogu. “Where do you want to start?’

Ritu and Be-Katan stared each other down until Bo-Katan’s posture relaxed and her hand fell away from her blaster. “Alright.”

“I heard a rumor about a trader that might have some information. Xe went straight after the death star, or that’s what xe tosses around. Still crooked, though. He makes deals under the table — the rumors say he picked up a med ship, but it didn’t make it to the ports.” Ritu took a breath.

“A rumor?” Bo raised a brow.

Djarin frowned, “Glumbus,” He spoke up, “Moodite.”

“Ah, you’ve heard of Xim.”

“You hear a lot of names when you go underground.”

Bo-Katan waved her hand to Get their attention, “Do we know where this Moodite is?”

“I have an idea-”

Between one breath and the next The hull disappeared, Bo-Katan and Ritu’s voice fading into nothing.

A pull in his stomach made him step further into the ship, each footfall growing quieter than silent all together.

Pure silence.

The roar of the jets, the hum of radiators, the dozens of beeps and clicks that remind you the ship works.

Gone.

It was deafening.

He turned towards the bunks, moving his hand towards his hip to reach for his blaster, and paused.

The touch of fabric across his calloused hands there’s a metal bump that digs into his thumb. This isn’t right.

Djarin looks down and sees coverings he’s never seen before. Thick blue material with torn fabric around his knees and his pelvis. A squared patterned shirt in a dark blue color, the white covering beneath was familiar. It was still him.

He wasn’t wearing his helmet.

“Patu.” Grogu called.

Djarin bolted into their cubby, throwing the door open with a silent clang. Grogu was curled up in the middle of the bed, his forehead touching his knees. Djarin reached out to touch him when a scream ripped through the air.

They weren’t on the ship anymore.

Djarin had both knees on the bed and his hand reaching when his surroundings sank in. The room was an off-white color with shadows stretching from the people huddled around to the corners of the room. He couldn’t see past the shadows of people, their shoulders hunched over and hands disappearing into the darkness.

Another scream, louder, closer, the end coming to a hiccup that Djarin would know anywhere.

Time slowed as he took off running, his hands grabbing onto the walls, pipes, and an exposed metal panel to swing his way toward the screaming. He felt weightless the closer he got and realized he’d never left the bed. All the frantic scrambling hadn’t happened.

What?

The bed was moving, following the eerie sound of sobs that pooled into whimpering choked gasps of air. Djarin heard the terror, the fear, the noise getting louder as the bed moved them forward. When the sobbing surrounded them, thundering the walls, he turned to look at Grogu — who was still curled up in sleep.

“Grogu.” He touched his son’s shoulder, and he jumped, eyes flying open to look up at Djarin. He reached one green hand up to touch his cheeks but stopped when the sobbing turned into screaming. Their surroundings shimmered, going wavy and splitting apart — that’s when he saw you.

Your hand lay off the bed, head fallen to the side as blood covered your chest the nodules glued to your temples tugging at your skin. They’d shaved your head, leaving scratches behind covered by more wires.

Djarin tried to run towards you, his blaster in hand; ready to fight the universe to get you back home when your eyes flashed open.

“NO!” you screamed. The movement sending him flying backwards, hitting the wall of the cubby. The clang of his helmet made a dangerous sound as he came back to the here and now. Grogu was awake, curled up in his lap, holding tight to his belt.

“What-”

He looked around the cubbie, eyes tracking the wall, landing on the pallet beneath him and the shelf of clothes across from him. They were — well they were on the ship instead of — he looked down at Grogu. The little guy was asleep already, his fingers still curled around Djarin's belt.

“Sorry kid, I gotta go talk to Bo-Katan.” Grogu didn’t stir when he lifted him into his swing, tucking him next to his blanket before exiting the cubby. The ship was moving.

“Bo-Katan?”

“Din Djarin!” She answered him back. Djarin nodded to reassure himself then took off for the cockpit. There she was, her redhead smooth with her helmet sitting beside her. Looking at it made him feel uneasy. It made him think about The Armorer telling him he’d become excommunicated and no longer Mando’a. There were a few moments in his life where he felt genuine fear and knowing he’d lost his creed, and his family all in one. The yawing pit in his stomach became too much sometimes that he’d find the nearest secluded place, remove his helmet, and scream.

That empty helmet reminds him of what it felt like to lose everything you loved.

“I didn’t want to bother you and the kid, so I talked with Ritu and she gave me the full rundown. What happened to Gal-” She shook her head, “Ritu gave us jump coordinates of where the Moodite is hiding out.”

He nodded. “I’ll take over you. Go ahead. Get some rest.”

“Din Djarin-”

“Thank you, Lady Kryze. Get some rest and I’ll wake you when we arrive.” Bo rose, standing before him until he could see his reflection in the pupils of her eyes.

“Thank you.” She grabbed her helmet and stepped around him.

Djarin sank into the seat and focused on the stars.

-

The small blue Moodite tried to come at Bo with a fishing hook but missed a step and slipped off the table. Djarin didn’t hesitate to grab him by the scruff and drag him towards the back of the bar. He shouted at Bo before disappearing into the back and hearing several people scream.

“I’a don’na want nothun you tryan to do witha me.” The smaller species grumbled.

“Stay quiet.” Djarin shoved at the xim until xe hit the table again and tumbled over. He caught xem by the scruff and swung xim into that table, once again letting go so xir’s head will bounce off the wood. Glumbus scrambled to stand up straight only to freeze in place. Xe sighed and looked up at the two Mandalorians.

A trickle of green blood dripped down xir’s nose.

“I’a dun’a know nothun.”

“Yeah,” Djarin stood in front of xem, “Why’d you fight?”

“Uh. Mandalo’in come in, two uh, I run. I don’na want nothun.” Xir ears twitched.

Djarin held back a sigh, “Glumbus you’re wanted for spice running and you owe Collum money. You obviously have something to do with something.”

The blue skin turned purple. Djarin smirked.

“Toka toka,” Xe leaned back, “What da wunna?”

He felt Bo-Katan step up, hovering behind Djarin. “I heard you tried to go straight but didn’t quite keep it up.” He stepped closer and Xe raised xir hands in panic.

“I’a dun’a whata mean?”

Bo moved forward, “Seems you got hired to move a few cargo ships, but not all of those ships got to their locations. In fact, some of those ships traded for a few credits. Maybe a favor or two?”

Xir skin darkened into a violet purple, eyes flickering Around the room with fearful hesitation. Djarin Watched Xir’s eyes waiting for action, vibrating beneath his skin.

The Moodite seemed to slump in defeat, “No madda what I’a dead.” Xe looked around for the chair xe threw. It wobbled a little but seemed safe enough to for Glumbus to plop onto it.

Djarin rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“You were transporting a med ship and an out of commission one.”

“Uh-”

“I bet if we looked at your logs plenty of forged numbers will fill the blank spaces, maybe, some fake names? Huh, Glumbus.” It wasn’t a question. Djarin crossed his arms and waited.

Glumbus’ purple complexion darkened until it was nearly black.

Xe swallowed with a gulp, “I’a was off’a’d more — uh a com-pen-station.” The words dragged out xim, the darting of Glumbus tongue tripping over them. Xe swallowed again and looked away.

“and?” Bo-Katan tapped her blaster.

Xe looked up in fear, “I’a didna know the persa. I’a was giv’n message by st’ange persa” The darkness faded a bit.

“Where’d you deliver it?”

Glumbus shook xir head. “Klando eck modsa neyh.”

Djarin kicked the table.

Glumbus jumped, “I’a don’a know name.”

“Okay.” Djarin nodded and then moved forward to grip the Moodite by the neck of Xir jumper. He lifted Xim up so he could slam Xim into the tabletop – once again. “What about now, Glumbus.” He pressed his fists into Xir’s neck.

Glumbus gurgled, “Co-or- ack, ack, di-nates only.”

Djarin let go and Bo moved to stand beside him. Xe stayed laying on the table xirs hand cradling Xirs throat.

“Was that so hard? Give us the coordinates.”

Glumbus glared.

-

Ashha remembered the first time she cared for you. The needles left enlarged bruises across Your body. At times when she cleaned up the wounds before closing Them with bacta — she felt uncertain of the path she was on.

She watched you grow up. The smile that lingered on your lips disappeared week by week. Some days they kept you in the lab for hours. You’d crawl into your bunk and fall asleep for hours.

Ashha remembers the first time she saw your eyes.

The deep depth starting Out near black, the pupils blending with the surrounding color. It was surreal — uncanny.

When the star appeared in the depths of the darkness, purple bleeding into the iris. That’s when Ashha knew you were different. What was happening to you? Was not what she thought was going on.

Ashha paid attention after that. She noticed when some patients would go for ‘treatment’ and come back differently — or not come back at all. She looked deeper, dove further until she found the truth of the experiments.

That’s when she realized what was happening to you.

The force inside you being morphed into a weapon.

She also remembers the first vision you whispered about. How many nights you’d wake screaming or crying out a stranger’s name?

That’s how she met Ritu. Both of them grow attached to you with each drain of your force after the next.

They’d beaten you into nothing, yet a small glimmer of hope swirled In your eyes.

The beep of her comms pulled her from the memories and back to the jarring reality

Dank Ferrick, did they catch her signal?

Holding back another curse, she allowed the communication to come through.

Ritu looked at her.

“I’ve met the Mandalorian again in search of Gal.” She looked over her shoulder. “I sent them after Glumbus in hope they could get something out of Xim. I’m coming your way, old friend. We’re going to end all of this now.”

The projection fell away.

Ashha remembers feeling your blood slicking their fingers.

“All of it.” She mutters.

Pedro Pascal

Masterlists

@everytimeyousaygoodbye