#arc * pack . the moon lives in the lining of your skin

[mochiwrites]

Hi mochi! Soo this might be very unexpected and feel free to ignore but, I've been rereading songbirds blood au again. While I've been reading I have had my notes app open taking notes and questions and I have a ton for fics 1 - 3

:^]

( “You know there’s been people saying that the culprit is a vampire with all the neck biting stuff involved.” Pearl tells him, making Grian scoff. 

He swallows his toast, “C’mon Pearl, no one actually believes that.” )

( Vampires aren’t real. They’re just a myth, a story.” )

-two of the quotes which i just find ironic in showing your teeth at the moon fic 1

Ohhohhohh grian if you only knew what was going to happen. :^]

Fic 2 (I could only lead you so far)

Firstly Cub giving the murder cases to Grian is mighty suspicious, especially after Grian met Mumbo for the first time. I believe Cub mightve knew that Grian met Mumbo and he knew that Mumbo would help him with the case. Time travel or he is physic or warden hearing power??? (It could just be that he is just tired of the case and he is human)

Also Boogle??? I love it I think Google should change to Boogle, just imagine!

Mumbo mentioned that ghost and ghouls exist. Will we possible see any ghost or ghouls in the future? But are ghost kinda the same as phantoms such as in the origins mod pack?

Fic 3 (Defend your factions, cut the lines)

Since Doc is the mayor of aqua town does he use like magic to make himself look different. I would think soo because he is literally a creeper hybrid green skin, robotics and all. I think if he were to make a appearance like that in town people would run for their lives. Like said he was giving a speech or in a meeting etc...

Now Impulse mentioned that he and zed are roommates. "And they were roommates!"/silly . Soo does that make zed also a supernatural or is he like Grian and knowing that Impulse is a supernatural? Or it might be that zed doesn't know but I think that is kinda impossible with how nosy he is/pos

Now when Grian was following Mumbo to town how did Mumbo not hear or smell him?

Lastly how did you come up with the titles? All of them are soo unique and fit the fic soo perfectly!

Thank you for listening there might be more ask in the future if you're comfortable with it😊

EEEEEEE I LOVE ASKS LIKE THESE HEHE

I do really love looking all the way back at the start of songbird and seeing where grian was at in the beginning 🥺 he was so naive and free of trauma and was really just dropped headfirst into the supernatural world. and GOD grian and mumbo at the start??? they’ve come such a long way

cub gave grian the spotlight with the paper for two (2) reasons!! :D it truly was simply because he thought grian could do it more justice and well. being such a focus in the paper isn’t quite his style <3

the Boogle thing… I think it’s my proudest achievement of songbird actually /silly

ghost or ghouls HM. in arc 3 we probably won’t! but maybe they’ll appear in the story, you never know! I don’t have any plans at the moment, but that can definitely change in the future <3 as for if they’re similar to origins phantom… I’ll probably end up using ghost and phantom as synonyms and swap them around if they ever appear in songbird. so yeah! they’ll be the same thing — maybe just with some extra world building chucked in hehe

so!!! for doc, he’s not a creeper hybrid!!! he’s a vampire just like mumbo is! in songbird he looks like a regular guy™️ with pale skin and green hair. I imagine the only thing he would use his glamour for is to hide his pointy ears :D

zed doesn’t know that impulse is a demon :3 impulse has been alive for like. thousands of years now (he was definitely alive during the supernatural rebellion), he’s had lots of practice keeping his demon side a secret, especially from nosy people like zed

with mumbo not hearing or smelling grian, it’s two factors! one: grian kept enough distance. and two: it’s as simple as mumbo had a lot on his mind that distracted him. I mean, he just found out about the murders going on in town and got more information about it from doc. we know just how much mumbo cares about people, even if he tries not to. between doc, the council, the murders, plus mumbo doing “work” for the council? there was definitely a lot going on inside his head that left him a bit distracted and therefore not paying attention to grian

and hehe thank you!!! I pull my titles for songbird fics from the playlist I made specifically for the au!! :D my process is pretty simple — I grab a song or song lyric (if it’s a one shot) that matches the vibe/theme/focus of the fic and there we go!

double and!!! I’m more than comfortable with more asks :D I genuinely love seeing other people’s thoughts and theories on songbird, it always makes me so excited. the fact that people take the time to engage with my writing like that is so ;w; it makes me very happy and almost??? honored??? 🥺 so yes!!! please feel free to share more <33

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[evils--reign]

because i am ridiculously lazy and haven’t written up all my verses yet, have some quick little points that relate to my t.een w.olf verse:

regina’s a witch. her bloodline is old and can be traced back centuries. for this reason, she's considered to have royal blood. 

witches in this world are like wolves in that they are affected by the full moon. when the moon is full, their magic is at it’s strongest and most potent. 

the magic i reference in this verse is similar to the magic used in ‘witches of east end’.  

witches are technically neutral when it comes to conflict amongst the supernatural kind. the mills’ in particular had a mutually beneficial relationship with the hales. 

when it comes to hunting witches, it’s a grey area. it’s not encouraged, but it’s ultimately up to the hunter themselves. some hunters use witches as resources, depending on the source of their magic. 

a witch can delve too deeply in to black magic and consequently lose control. this is when a hunter would step in. the reason why the mills’ fled after the hale fire is because their bloodline is notorious for embracing the dark arts, and they didn’t want to either be blamed for their deaths, or follow in their footsteps. 

i primarily use c.amila m.endes for this verse but i also have a subverse where regina is an adult and returns to beacon hills, drawn to the magic in town.

[charlietheepicwriter7]

High Priest, Pt. 2

From “The Many Akumatizations of Luka Couffaine.” 

The class was, for the most part, silent.

No one knew what to feel after yesterday, Juleka included. It was… Everything was fine, they were all hanging out, and then Lila mentioned that Marinette got out of trouble for bullying her, which was horrible, and… and���

Juleka didn’t know who pushed Marinette. She just knew that someone did. No one goes from backing away from a hoard of angry teenagers to crumpled at the bottom of concrete stairs by the Seine by yourself. And then Lila had said, 

“Wow, I can’t believe she’s faking being hurt. She has a lot of nerve after pushing me down the stairs. I didn’t make such a big deal out of it.”

And they all just left her.

But Marinette wasn’t faking. She’d seen it in Luka’s face when her parents had called him, saying that Marinette was in the hospital and that he needed to come, as her boyfriend (her boyfriend, Luka was her boyfriend, when Lila had told them Marinette had bullied her because of Marinette’s jealousy over how close she and Adrien were-). And now… 

And now…

The class was silent. 

Who was the guilty one, Juleka wondered. Not Lila, she had stood at the back of the group while they accosted Marinette. Not Adrien, who hadn’t gotten involved and hadn’t defended Marinette, a true neutral that wasn’t neutral at all. Not Chloe, who wasn’t even there and chatted away with Sabrina without a care in the world, unknowing or uncaring about their hospitalized friend. But Alya, but Nino, but Kim, but anyone… 

There was a murderer among them. 

A sharp trill of their phones went off, all of them at once. The akuma alert. Alya, who already had her phone out, was the first to shout. “There’s an akuma at Arc Hospital!”

Juleka paled. (“I’m going to Arc Hospital! Tell mom not to wait for me!”)

“Apparently it can transform the environment,” Alya gushed, like her best friend wasn’t in danger. No one noticed Adrien leaving with a rushed excuse about the bathroom - they were all used to his weak bladder by now. “That’s so cool! I’ve never seen an akuma do that before!”

“There might be a sentimonster along with it,” Nino pointed out. “Maybe on the hospital itself, and that’s why it transformed.”

“Oh, that makes more sense!” Alya replied, already packing up her bag. “I’m going to head to the sight; someone has to document the akuma!”

“I’ll go with you,” Nino said. 

The two were heading out the door, nothing too different, when Lila spoke up, shakily raising her hand. “C-Can I come too?” she asked. “It’s just… I’ve been so worried about Ladybug lately; akuma’s have been getting a lot stronger, so I just thought that I could be there for her, cheer her on?”

Alya looked nervous. “Well, actually-”

“That’s a great idea!” Rose gushed, like they didn’t have a friend in that specific hospital. “I’m sure Ladybug will defeat the akuma with her best friend by her side!”

“Yeah!”

“Hey, we should go too!”

“Ladybug will certainly feel empowered if an entire class cheers her on!”

“Sure. She’ll probably end up needing Queen Bee, if the akuma is that powerful.”

We shouldn’t do that, Juleka tried to say, only for the words to get stuck in her throat. Did they see that they were putting themselves in danger, potential hostages for the akuma? But no, they were blind. Lila led them like lemmings, encouraging them, saying “Yes, of course Ladybug would love that, we should all go!”

That’s how, despite her instincts, Juleka was forced into going to ground zero. At least she wasn’t the only one disliking the situation. Both Alya and Nino looked put out for some reason, and Chloe was just unhappy in general. 

The hospital had been transformed into a temple. “Aztec,” Rose whispered as they all stared up at the pyramid. “It looks… like those pictures from that research project Luka was doing.” Juleka nodded and suddenly had a horrible feeling about who exactly the akuma was. The stone looked rough, the mica a sandy-grey. Pictographs were carved into the stone, unlike any Juleka had ever seen, with each image growing more and more graphic in violence as the class climbed the pyramid together. They all… looked like people, she noticed.

The truly concerning factor, however, was the group of people that gathered at the bottom of the pyramid as the class trekked upward. But no one else set foot on the temple. They were utterly alone. 

There was only one entrance into the temple, a wide, gaping mouth of a door. Fire flickered inside the opening. Alya gave a shaky smile as she readied her camera. “Well, I guess we’re expected, right guys?” Her attempt at a joke fell flat as the class inched into the temple. 

The inside was covered in carvings, intricate and beautiful, painted and bright. Most of them depicted a beautiful dark-haired woman with a crescent moon on her forehead being worshiped. Was she the akuma? Some woman with a god-complex that turned the hospital into… this? Torches lined the walls, throwing dark shadows across the paintings. “They look like they’re moving,” Nathaniel whispered, enthralled as the class spread out, everyone looking around the interior. 

Alix frowned. “It doesn’t look very Aztec to me.”

At the center of the room was a glass altar. Or, more accurately, as Juleka approached it, a glass coffin. The frosted glass concealed the content’s identity at a distance, but up close, Juleka realized it was… “Marinette?”

That got everyone’s attention. Shocked gasps and exclamations filled the room. Alya pushed her way to the front. “What? No, it can’t be…”

Nino looked at the coffin nervously. “She can’t be akumatized, can she?”

“Of course not!” Alya spat back, coming to the defense of her comatose best friend. “She’s too strong to-”

Lila clung to Alya, cutting her off. “She was probably so upset that I revealed she was bullying me!” She wailed, the sound grating in the echoing expanse of the hall. “Oh, it’s all my fault that Marinette finally got akumatized!” For a moment, Juleka thought Lila sounded… vindicated? What?

“Cease your lies, Defiler of this hallowed place. -A strong, male, familiar voice boomed out, seemingly from nowhere-“Lest your accursed tongue wound the ears of our slumbering Goddess.”

From the shadows immerged a blue figure, dressed like a stereotypical Aztec priest. His skin, mostly his bare chest and face, was covered in black tattoos, like the line of triangles under his left eye and over his right. He wore a large, jeweled necklace that sparkled in the fire light, and feathers, dark blue and pink, trailed out of his short hair and down his back, past the linen skirt he wore to cover his modesty. 

It was obvious at first glance that the akuma was Luka. 

What was also obvious was the large, ceremonial knife in his hand. 

“Rejoice, heretics, non-believers, and renouncers of the faith,” the akuma said, looking down on their class with cold rage. “The day has come at last to join our Goddess in everlasting peace at her side. For I, the High Priest, have been given the sacred duty of awakening the Goddess of the Moon, the Melody of all Hearts, the Ever-Resting Queen… and it is with your blood that she will live again.”

Rose trembled at Juleka’s side. “Our… blood?” she whispered.

“Correct.” He could hear them, oh no, oh no… “Either through service or sacrifice, it matters little to me. Though my Goddess may wish for you to bleed through service, I care not so long as the blood is taken.”

“You…” Alya growled, then snapped, pointing at the High Priest. “Ladybug and Chat Noir will defeat you and save Marinette, you fiend. And if you think any of us are joining you, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“So, you have chosen death.” The room grew darker, the torches dimming. The High Priest’s eyes glowed neon blue. “Then may my Goddess have mercy on your fleeting soul…

“For I will have none.”

Taglist: @larasilvestris   @vixen-uchiha    

[vosh-rakh]

a handsome hunt

Handsome has been tracking this particular mark for a year now. Her reputation depends on it: this argonian nearly killed the Queen of Wayrest, and under her watch. So through the East Wrothgarians she’s chased her, hunting from sighting to sighting, always one step behind. She’s a tricky one, this assassin, former sister of the Dark Brotherhood.

Handsome pulls her cloak tighter against the frigid air of this altitude. What a waste of time, she thinks, to be an assassin. It’s not much better than being a bandit, albeit a little more civilized. There’s a proper profession for people like her, like Handsome: bounty hunting, or at least other mercenary work. That way you can make money killing people legally. They had something like that in Morrowind, before it blew up: the Morag Tong. This assassin, an old member of the Wayrest chapter of the Dark Brotherhood, idealizes herself as one of those old state-sanctioned assassins. But there’s not much room for virtue in this kind of work in the 4th era.

Handsome’s last clue was a sighting climbing this path up Mt. Martag, spotted by a group of orc teens playing banditry in the valley. Not the best lead, but the trail is running dry. Handsome needs a little bit of luck on her side. The kids told her a story of a cave near the peak of the mountain, of an infamous marauder who hid his loot there before being caught by the Empire centuries ago. Many youngsters tried to climb to this cave to find his riches, but all either turned back halfway or were never seen again. There was a rumor that a vicious dire troll lived in that cave, but the adults knew the much simpler truth: the path was treacherous, and it was nearly impossible to reach it in the first place. Most never bothered to try to reclaim the bodies of the lost, and instead tried to instil the danger of trolls and dragons into the children to keep them away.

Handsome was experienced enough that she felt her odds were better. So she set out to climb the mountain, following the often narrow and icy path upwards. As she approached, she heard ominous sounds, almost like the roaring of a troll, but she convinced herself it was the wind. Now, as she nears the cave, she’s not so sure. Even if her target isn’t here, maybe she can make enough money killing the troll for the locals that she can run far away from Wayrest and start again somewhere else. 

-

Handsome stares into the dark, narrow opening of the cave and sniffs at the frigid mountain air, the cold stinging the lining of her nostrils. No smell of troll dung, which she takes as a good sign. But she does smell something: the faintest whisper of smoke, an even better sign. The brief roar of her torch igniting breaks the howling winds for a moment, and she draws her axe. Then she begins to descend into the cave.

The air in here is hazy, smelling more strongly of smoke. She follows that odor as she keeps careful footing on the damp stone. No signs of habitation anywhere in these early corridors, so she commits to delving deeper.

The smoke leads her to a larger chamber in the bowels of the cave. She waves her torch around to get a better look. The smoke clears a bit and she can see a bedroll, a doused fire, and a handful of small barrels. Lying near the bedroll is a pack, lounging open on the stone floor. Whoever lived here, they left in a hurry, and recently.

Handsome lays her torch on one of the barrels to give the room light as she investigates. Halfway tucked into the pack is a small book, a journal by the looks of it. She picks it up and leafs through it with one hand, her other still firmly on her axehandle. It’s written in daedric script, which Handsome can read, but the language is entirely unfamiliar. She studies the cryptic handwriting for a moment, trying to decipher the text, but to no avail. Her best guess is that it might be written in the strange language of the argonians, seeing as her target is one herself. But to Handsome’s knowledge, that language is completely oral, with no written equivalent. Puzzling. She sticks it in her back-pocket to study more later.

“Hello.”

Handsome nearly jumps out of her skin. She swings around instinctively, her axe-arm outstretched in an offensive arc to catch her attacker. But all it finds is air, as the speaker is at the entrance to the chamber, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

“Who are you?” Handsome asks, trying to gauge who she’s dealing with through the smoke and darkness. Looks like a dark elf, so not her target.

“Who are you, snooping around in my things?” The stranger draws a sword, but her arm is shaking. Clearly untrained. “I know how to use this.” No, you don’t, thinks Handsome.

“You live here?” Handsome waves her hand around, but keeps her axe leveled the stranger’s way.

“For the time being, yes. Why are you here?”

Handsome grunts. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Unless that person is Sivennis Dirale, I think you should leave.” She waggles her sword in what is surely meant to be an intimidating gesture.

Handsome grins. “Going to call the guards on me? The legion, perhaps? Or an ordinator?”

Sivennis drops her sword in a pleading gesture. “Please just leave me be. I’m just a hermit. I live here by myself.”

Handsome strokes her chin. “That may be so,” she says. “Tell me, have you seen an argonian around these parts? Possibly accompanied by an orc?”

“An argonian? Why are you looking for an argonian?”

Handsome decides to trust this poor woman. “I’m a bounty hunter. She’s wanted in connection to...an attempted murder. The orc’s her accomplice.”

“Oh! How awful!”

“I’ll leave you alone, if only you answer my question. Have you seen any suspicious argonians lately?”

“Well, no, why would any argonian come this far…” The woman bites her lip. “Oh Azura save me. I can’t tell you now that I know she’s a murderer. What if she comes after me next?”

“Attempted murderer. That means she’s not good enough to finish the job. Tell me what you know and I’ll make sure you’re protected.” 

“Well...she came to me one night, with her orc man, asking for directions. I think they were heading south, towards Cyrodiil. Something about meeting with a friend in Skingrad, I think. That’s all I know, really.”

“That’s good enough. Thank-”

“I’m home!”

The words bellowed and echoed throughout the cave, causing Sivennis to cringe and whisper, “Dammit,” under her breath.

Handsome’s eyes dilate. “I thought you said you lived here by yourself.”

“I did, didn’t I? Sithis damn his loud mouth.”

There was a space of time between the sword being on the floor and then appearing in the elf’s hand again. In that brief moment Handsome saw through the dark haze clearly enough to make out some of the finer details of “Sivennis’s” face; notably, dark grooves on the sides of her neck, and the faintly reflective scales on her cheeks. After that brief moment was another, briefer, when Handsome’s axe-arm instinctively drew upwards to defend against the incoming strike.

“I told you I knew how to use this,” Hla-eix the assassin said, pulling back from the parried blow. 

“You did, didn’t you,” quipped Handsome, readying her axe for a strike of her own. It came at the same time as one of Hla-eix’s, forcing her to quickly step to the side to avoid it. She certainly was a far cry from the quivering mess Sivennis had been, striking decisively like a viper, with a well-trained grace. 

The two slowly circled one another, blocking and parrying each attack. Handsome needed to finish her, and quick, because she could hear the orc coming, his steps heavy down the stone halls - she certainly couldn’t take them both on, if he’s anything like her. When they had completely switched positions from the start of their duel, Hla-eix made a mistake that Handsome jumped on: she catches Hla-eix’s wrist under the beard of her axe, disarming her, her sword clattering away. 

So much for the “alive” bonus, she thinks as she readies a finishing blow. She raises her arm over her head -

- but it won’t come down. She feels a weight on her wrist that holds her back. She elbows behind her and wrests her hand free, swinging it around to hit her attacker. She finds that the elbow connected with his throat, and her axe finds his side, but doesn’t manage to find much depth. 

But something manages to find depth in Handsome’s back, sucking the air from her lungs. She falls forward, knocking the wounded orc over but catches herself on the wall of the cave. 

Now, Handsome thinks, is the time to run.

She gropes her way through the dark cave, away from the light behind her, running as fast as her breath will allow. She realizes too late that she left her axe in the orc’s tough flesh but keeps pushing forward. Finally she finds the light of the moons and stars outside and follows it until she escapes the cave. She turns her head briefly behind her to see the orc hot on her heels, bleeding, holding her axe, eyes glowing red. No one escapes an orc’s rage, she remembers just as she realizes there’s nowhere else to run. She can’t manage the descent wounded like this, and all that remains is a nearly vertical cliffside. 

She runs to the edge then stops, turning around. Hla-eix and the orc are both there, and Handsome is out of options. Hopefully there’s a soft snowdrift down there.

This is going to hurt, she thinks. She steps backwards.

-

Everything hurts, she thinks as she wakes up. Handsome tries to sit up but starts coughing so harshly that she has to lay back down. A little orc girl in the room notices and gasps before running away. She returns a moment later with an older orc woman, a shaman by her garb.

“You’re finally awake,” the woman says. “Was beginning to wonder if you would wake at all.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in the village of Orsinium ag Martag, in friendly hands. You fell off a mountain. With a knife in your back. Which was poisoned. You also broke some bones. From falling off the mountain. I’m in the process of fixing you.”

Handsome raises a shaky hand to try to rub away a headache. “Is that all,” she whispers.

“It’s a miracle you survived,” the shaman says. “You should be thankful.”

“Yes, thank Malacath, I thought I was done for.”

“No, stupid girl,” the shaman shouts, slapping her on her unbroken leg. “Thank me. Malacath had nothing to do with it.”

“...sorry. Thank you.” Handsome slowly sits up, wincing all the while. “How can I repay you? I have gold. Drakes.”

“We don’t deal with Imperial gold in Orsinium,” the shaman says. “Tell me who you are and I call us square.”

“Okay. I’m Handsome. A bounty hunter. Just got my ass kicked by my current mark. Is that good enough?”

“I know you’re handsome,” the shaman says, “but what’s your name?” The little girl giggles.

“Handsome. It’s my name. Professionally.”

The shaman laughs deeply too. “Oh, I’m just playing with you. You outlanders are so fun to tease.”

“How do you know I’m an outlander?”

“People from here don’t climb mountains just to jump off them. Got more sense than that.”

“...Fair.”

The woman drags a sack over by the bed. Handsome looks through it, finding most of her things intact. She sees Hla-eix’s journal and pulls it out, puzzling over it again.

“We had to dig around where you fell to find a lot of this, so we may have missed some stuff,” says the shaman. “And you may be missing a few healing potions. We used them on you.”

Handsome acknowledges with a grunt, but is still poring over the pages. “You read daedric?” she asks.

“It’s all we write in,” says the shaman. “No cyrodiilic letters in Orsinium.”

“Can you tell what this says?” Handsome turns the journal out for the shaman to read.

The woman squints as she focuses on the words, but shakes her head. “Gobbledygook. Is it code or something?”

“I think it might be argonian talk,” Handsome replies, closing the book. “Know anyone who might know it?”

“Not out here. Maybe in the city.”

“How long until I can leave?”

[orionsangel86]

75 Must Watch Supernatural Episodes in preparation for Season 15

As you might recall, a while ago TV Guide posted an article about their choice of the top 75 episodes of Supernatural to watch as a catch up of the series before the final season. 

I read that article, and found myself absolutely horrified at many of their choices and outraged that many of the all time best episodes (including ones extremely important to the story) were missed off.

Everyone has their own opinions of course, but when I disagree with something that much it tends to motivate me to act out of pure spite - I do love a good spite motivation - and so I have made my own list, for the fandom, of the 75 absolute must watch episodes for anyone who wants to understand the integral story of Supernatural.

I have to hand it to TV Guide, whilst I adamantly disagreed with their choices, I admit that this was EXTREMELY DIFFICULT and having to sacrifice some of my faves so that I could include others that were more important to the story HURT, but that’s how it is.

Full list under the cut. Let me know what you think of my choices and my reasons!

1. Pilot

You cannot start a series catch up anywhere else, and we have to include the pilot episode. Introducing us to Sam and Dean, and setting up the story including the back story with the family tragedy. You just can’t beat a good old fashioned female fridging for man pain. *jokes*

2. 1x06 Skin

I feel like Skin is an important episode to watch as it is our first real look at Dean’s psyche as a character, where we start to realise just how much he is hiding behind his tough macho man exterior. The speech by Shifter!Dean to a horrified and confused Sam is heartbreaking and very revealing. 

3. 1x12 Faith

This is still hands down one of Supernaturals best episodes. It was also the first time Kripke started considering a bigger mytharc involving faith and Christianity. We can all thank this episode for planting the seeds that would later give us the hugely popular character Castiel, and the hugely successful mytharc plots of Seasons 4 and 5. Also, one of the best music moments from the show with the “Don’t Fear The Reaper” chase scene.

4. 1x14 Nightmare

This episode introduces us to the Special Children story line which was of paramount importance to the first two seasons. It gives us the first glimpses of Sam’s powers to come, and is also the first time we get some hints of John Winchesters abuse of Dean.

5. 1x18 Something Wicked

I chose this episode because it is the first time we get to see more of Sam and Dean’s childhood, and how horrific it was - especially for Dean. A brilliant episode that once again clearly demonstrates how John Winchester is not a man to be messed with. If at this point you aren’t itching to call child services on his ass you probably need to read up on your understanding of child abuse.

6. 1x22 Devils Trap

The Season 1 finale gives us the show down between John Winchester and the Yellow Eyed Demon Azazel, some heartbreaking moments between father and sons, and a cliffhanger that leaves Baby and Dean both broken.

7. 2x01 In My Time of Dying

I love this episode. Dean’s out of body experience at the hospital, Sam’s grief, John’s deal, Tessa’s introduction to the show. C’est magnifique!

8. 2.05 Simon Said

I just think Simon Said is a great episode that further develops the special children plot whilst being both funny and dark at its core - classic SPN.

9. 2.15 Tall Tales

Our introduction to Gabriel - well, to the trickster as he is known here. This episode is gloriously funny and a must watch!

10. 2.21 All Hell Breaks Loose: Parts One and two

Okay I’m cheating a bit and putting these two episodes together, but in my opinion they count as their own feature length episode as you can’t watch one without the other. The climax of the special children arc, the deeply emotional Sam death scene and Dean’s bedside vigil, and Dean selling his soul. This two part season finale packed a lot of punches and is a definite must watch.

11. 3.03 Bad Day at Black Rock

How can anyone forget Sam’s run of bad luck in this hilarious episode. He LOST HIS SHOE!

12. 3.10 Dream a Little Dream of Me

This is another must watch episode for the deep dive into Dean’s psyche. We also get more of a backstory to Bobby Singer, but the real brilliance happens when Dean spends part of the episode talking to his own dark mirror, revealing all sorts of subconscious fears and insecurities on his part.

13. 3.11 Mystery Spot

I couldn’t not put Mystery Spot on the list. This infamous episode of Supernatural will have you singing “Heat of the Moment” over and over again whilst sympathising with poor Sam every time Tuesday comes around. Don’t let Dean eat the funny tasting tacos!

14. 3.16 No Rest for the Wicked

In lots of ways, Season 3 was a weak season. It was drastically shortened due to the writers strike at the time, and Kripke & Co didn’t get to tell the story they initially planned for, instead they had to come up with an alternative which gave us this dark finale in which Dean is condemned to hell. That can’t have been a fun hiatus for fans watching live... Still, it was a memorable finale and that is why it is on my list.

15. 4.01 Lazarus Rising

This episode. Here begins Supernaturals “golden age”. Enter Castiel, Angel of the Lord and future fan favourite right up until 2k19. How many people out in the world saw that now famous entrance and immediately fell in love? 

*holds up hand*

If you do nothing else, and you’ve never seen a single episode of Supernatural before, just watch this one, and I guarantee, I GUARANTEE, you will want to keep watching.

16. 4.07 It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

The problem I have with season 4 is that I want to put basically every episode on the list. To this day it remains my favourite season of the show (and not just for the extreme DeanCas sexual tension). I kept this episode on the list simply because I love the Halloween theme, I love the frankly horrifying Samhain, and I LOVE the journey that Castiel goes through in this episode alone. Bonus points for Sam Winchester fangirling over Castiel proving he is no different from the rest of us. :P

17. 4.16 On the Head of a Pin

I say season 4 is my favourite season, and On the Head of a Pin is one of my all time favourite episodes. This is Supernatural at it’s finest and it’s not surprising as it was written by the great Ben Edlund. It is a perfect blend of horror and angst as we watch every character painfully spiral downwards. Sam hungrily drinks Ruby’s blood much to the audiences horror, Castiel faces his internal and external conflicts as all starts to unravel in the heavenly plans, and Dean plays a terrifying game of wits in an outstanding performance with the demon Alistair, his hellish torturer. It was a performance that Jensen Ackles should have won an Emmy for in my honest opinion. This episode has forever ruined the song “Cheek to Cheek” for me, but it was so worth it.

18. 4.17 It's a Terrible Life

It’s one of the classics. This AU world in which the angels flex their power over the Winchesters is another well loved fan favourite and quite frankly deserves to be here purely for the hilarious scene that many office workers all over the world would wish they could reenact as Sam quits his job in the most Sam Winchester way possible. 

19. 4.20 The Rapture

I had to keep this episode here because it is so important for future story lines. As Castiel gets closer to Dean, heaven takes action and we meet Jimmy Novak, Cas’s tormented vessel, and in Castiel’s own future words “his greatest regret”. It’s a deeply emotional episode that proves even angels have their dark sides.

20. 4.22 Lucifer Rising

The Season 4 finale is still one of the most epic in my opinion. Sam and Dean’s dramatic fight in the episode before has left them both vulnerable to the angels and demons that are manipulating them for their own purposes. Ruby’s villain reveal speech is still one of the best, and as she shows her true colours to a horrified Sam, Dean makes an angel fall for him. In every way. 

21. 5.03 Free to Be You and Me

This episode is another classic and many fans of Destiel would put it among their top episodes. As Sam and Dean go their separate ways, Dean grows closer to a now fallen and socially awkward Castiel.

22. 5.04 The End

Another epic from the mastermind that is Ben Edlund. The End has inspired much extremely angst ridden fanfiction over the years (and a very romantic song in a future musical episode) and is notorious for breaking fans hearts the world over. As Dean is unwillingly sent to a future apocalyptic world, he meets his harsh and brutal future self, and a drug addled hedonistic human Castiel. The most memorable and painful moment being his confrontation with a sharply dressed Lucifer wearing his brothers face. Tears flowed freely from fans the night this episode aired. 

23. 5.08 Changing Channels

Changing Channels is another of those infamous episodes that even non fans of SPN are aware of for it’s sheer lunacy. Sam and Dean once again find themselves up against the trickster aka the archangel Gabriel, who puts them into a TV world where they must “play their roles” in order to survive. 

Highlights include Sam’s herpes commercial and Dean’s heart eyes for Doctor Sexy MD. 

24. 5.16 Dark Side of the Moon

Dark Side of the Moon is a beautiful episode. The race through heaven and through each Winchester’s memories gives us a far greater understanding of their complex and troubled relationship. The heartbreaking scenes of Dean’s heaven with his mother that Sam could not be part of were especially painful to watch. The climax reveal that God wasn’t listening and Castiel’s subsequent loss of faith only added to that heartbreak. Another must see episode.

25. 5.18 Point of No Return

As is the case with season 4, it was so difficult not to just put every season 5 episode on this list. I do think that both seasons just need to be watched in full to truly grasp how brilliant they were. Point of No Return needs to be on this list though because this episode is the breaking point, the tensions remain high throughout as each character makes desperate choices as they all spiral towards the Endtimes.

26. 5.22 Swan Song

Swan Song is often considered the number 1 top episode of Supernatural. It is always at the top of these “rank the episodes” lists in the media, and that is why it is on my list too. It is brilliant in many ways, but if I am being completely honest it doesn’t even come close to the top of my own personal list ranking SPN episodes. It is certainly emotional, and there are some extremely heartbreaking scenes. Lucifer plays his hand, Dean plays his right back with the power of love, Sam makes his swan dive. It’s heartbreaking, it needs to be watched, but the “endings are hard” meta moan by Kripke always felt slightly too pretentious for my tastes. Don’t make excuses dude, this episode didn’t need them.

27. 6.11 Appointment in Samarra

I’ll be honest, I didn’t like season 6. Whilst some of the individual episodes were good, the mytharc was weak and I think the season struggled to find it’s feet for many episodes at the start. I didn’t like soulless Sam, preferring my Sammy to be the compassionate caring sweetheart he always was before. That being said, Appointment in Samarra is a brilliant standalone episode simply because the character of Death is so very compelling. Dean’s time playing Death was fun whilst also being a deeply emotional exploration of cause and effect in the universe. It’s a must watch.

28. 6.15 The French Mistake

I couldn’t not put this episode on the list. If Season 6 did one thing right, it was this ridiculous episode.

29. 6.20 The Man Who Would Be King

The only other thing Season 6 did right. 6x20 is Ben Edlund’s masterpiece and without it, frankly, the entire mytharc plot of the season would fail miserably. This beautiful episode told from the point of view of a hugely conflicted Castiel not only birthed an entire new generation of Destiel shippers, but canonically confirmed that Castiel’s every decision was motivated by his love for Dean. 

*Ouch my shipper heart*

30. 6.22 The Man Who Knew Too Much

The season 6 finale is on this list purely for two characters: Sam and Cas. Sam’s journey to put himself back together inside his own head is as enjoyable as it is emotional. Castiel’s spiralling through into utter villainy is simply soul destroying - especially for those of us who are heavily invested in this character. 

31. 7.01 Meet the New Boss

I had to keep the season 7 premiere in this episode as it is the only hint we have of what could have been an AMAZING season story line! Sadly, it was not to be, and Castiel’s run as God lasts this episode only before a very misguided showrunner wrote him off the show (thankfully she saw reason and brought him back dramatically later on, even though the damage and huge drop in ratings was already done.) Worth watching purely for enjoying a power drunk Castiel wipe out a homophobic preacher - he really doesn’t like those homophobes!

32. 7.10 Death's Door

The first time I watched Death’s Door I sobbed for 20 minutes straight. Bobby Singer was the best father Sam and Dean (and Castiel at times) could have ever had, and this heartfelt goodbye to the character as he fought against his reaper and his own memories really packed a punch.

33. 7.17 The Born-Again Identity

The episode that turned it all around. The Born-Again Identity sees a desperate Dean take a chance on a mysterious healer to help a haunted Sam. That healer turns out to be everything Dean has been waiting for. Castiel’s dramatic return to the series answered both Deans, and many fans, prayers. 

34. 7.20 The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo

The introduction of Charlie Bradbury was a must on this list. She immediately became a fan favourite with her upbeat quirkiness. Created to be an avatar for fandom in many ways, she was a breath of fresh air compared to the previous fan avatar the show introduced us too who the less we mention the better. This episode was a lighthearted fun episode in an otherwise downright depressing season.

35. 7.23 Survival of the Fittest

It’s a must watch for the dick jokes alone. In all seriousness, I like this episode, even if it is another weak finale compared to others. The dynamic between Dean, Sam, Meg, and a Castiel who isn’t quite himself, is enjoyable, even if the villain of the season isn’t all that interesting.

36. 8.02 What's Up, Tiger Mommy?

Where the season 8 premiere focused on the present day, and what Sam had been doing in the year between the season 7 finale and now, episode 2 focuses more on purgatory. Dean’s time in purgatory desperately hunting for an AWOL Castiel is definitely worth the watch, especially when their purgatory reunion was so heartbreaking. Bonus points for Sam being worthy of Mjolnir!

37. 8.07 A Little Slice of Kevin

I make no secret of the fact that Castiel is my favourite character in Supernatural, or my love of Dean and Castiel’s relationship. This episode is on my list because Castiel’s return to the real world and an emotional Dean gets my fangirl heart pounding. This episode must use every romantic trope in the book on these two heartbroken dumbasses and it will always be a favourite.

38. 8.08 Hunteri Heroici

This episode is another one of my favourite. The boys finally bring Cas along on an otherwise regular monster of the week hunt, and it is hilarious. Not to mention the hunt is extremely loony and for that reason alone, it is a must watch.

39. 8.11 LARP and the Real Girl

The reintroduction of Charlie Bradbury is a delightful episode where the boys get a taste of LARPING. This is one of those memorable episodes where we get to see the Winchesters both out of their element, and also embracing a bit of fun outside of their normal dark lives. It is a joyful episode to watch.

40. 8.12 As Time Goes By

An integral episode that ends up being a game changer for the show. Thanks to a time travel spell, the boys find out their grandfather was part of a secret organisation. This episode is a must watch for the introduction of Abaddon, the Men of Letters, and the Winchester’s new home base that will see them through to the end of the series - the Bunker.

41. 8.17 Goodbye Stranger

Goodbye Stranger is one of those episodes that will break your heart and leave you screaming. Castiel finally breaks free from heavens grasp - but what broke the connection?

42. 8.23 Sacrifice

I adore the season 8 finale. Crowley’s confession, Sam’s heartbreaking speech which kicked off a long ongoing arc over the next 6 seasons exploring the darker side of the Winchester’s codependency, Metatron’s betrayal, and Castiel’s fall to humanity. The final scene with the angels fall to Earth is beautiful and emotional and I just love everything about it.

43. 9.01 I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

The season 9 premiere is another deeply emotional episode which explores the aftermath of Sam’s trials to close the gates of hell. Sam is once again on deaths door, but Dean has ideas to save him - and his choices drastically affect the course of both brothers, and Castiel’s, lives for the next several seasons of pain and downward spirals into darkness. 

44. 9.06 Heaven Can't Wait

The first ever episode written by our angst goblin king Bobo Berens and what a first episode it was. This episode was like a twisted mix between tragedy and romantic comedy but it worked brilliantly. Fans of Dean and Cas both laughed and wept at it’s perfection. It also was the episode that birthed a thousand fanfics thanks to one well placed “fanfiction gap”.

45. 9.11 First Born

This episode is one of the highlights of Season 9, with a brilliant performance by Timothy Omundson as Cain, this episode sees Dean make the terrible mistake of signing a contract before reading the terms and conditions. Bonus side plot of Sam and Cas getting some Bunker bonding time.

46. 9.18 Meta Fiction

This Castiel focused episode from the genius mind of Robbie Thompson is another must watch. The villainous Metatron manipulates Cas into playing a role in his own scripted story. Bonus guest appearance from fan favourite Gabriel adds to the appeal of this episode. (Following the season 14 finale I can’t help but wonder if this episode had some influence on the current writing team - could we even call it foreshadowing?)

47. 9.23 Do You Believe in Miracles?

The season 9 finale was another very strong episode which must be watched if only for the huge cliffhanger ending. Dean spirals into his own darkness under the effects of the Mark of Cain, and pays for it with his life. Thankfully Crowley is there to make things “better” and take the wayward Winchester under his demonic wing.

48. 10.03 Soul Survivor

Like many others, I feel that we were robbed of a longer Demon!Dean arc. I also feel like the show could have gone far darker with the character given everything we know about poor Dean’s psyche. Whilst episodes 1 and 2 took a lighter touch the demon, Soul Survivor was as close as we got to a truly evil representation of Dean and this episode shook me with the truly brilliant yet terrifying performance Jensen gives us. 

49. 10.05 Fan Fiction

Fan Fiction is one of those episodes that you will either love or hate. Created as a love letter to the shows fandom, Robbie Thompson poured his heart into this episode and I do think it is a necessary watch even if just for the beautiful rendition of Carry on Wayward Son at the end. Some may find it cringeworthy in parts - many in fandom don’t exactly like the show drawing attention to their “dirty laundry” and I don’t think anyone will forget a fangirl telling Dean Winchester directly that “you can’t spell subtext without S-E-X” nor the break-the-forth-wall look Dean gives the audience upon hearing that. Nevertheless, we can officially say that both Destiel and Sastiel have been mentioned directly by the Winchester brothers - funnily enough Sam seems totally cool with the concept of hooking up with Cas; Dean though, well, as the saying goes “the lady doth protest too much”.

50. 10.14 The Executioner's Song

Like with First Born, this episode is a must watch for Timothy Odmunson’s performance as Cain, and how brilliantly he and Jensen work together. A haunting and tense episode with a heartbreaking conclusion. It’s dark and deep and pretty damn epic.

Bonus Episode Shout Out - 10.16 Paint it Black

I am not actually including this episode in the list, as it is a generic MOTW for the most part. But I do want to give it an honorary mention for one scene in particular. If you are new to the show, and are planning on using this list to catch up, then for this episode, go to YouTube and search “Supernatural 10x16 Dean’s confession”. TRUST ME. If like me, you love analysing Dean’s character to death, his church confession in this episode is like being given the key to figuring out the meaning of life. 

51. 10.22 The Prisoner

I have chosen this episode over the Season 10 finale because this episode depicts Dean’s spiral into total darkness, whereas the season 10 finale always felt like a particularly weak episode to me. Following Charlie’s horrific (and highly controversial) death, Dean lets the Mark of Cain consume him and goes on a killing spree. The ending of this episode ripped my heart to shreds as Castiel promises that he will stay with Dean forever, only for Dean to beat him to near death and only stop at the last minute thanks to that final shred of humanity left in him. If the shot of a bloodied and heartbroken Castiel staring at the angel blade that narrowly missed his head doesn’t make you cry, then I don’t even know why you watch this show.

52. 11.04 Baby

Another fan favourite told from the point of view from the Impala which at this point is definitely its own character and so much more than just a car. Baby is an extremely well put together episode which confirms that there is more than a little bit of magic in that sleek 1967 muscle car.

53. 11.11 Into the Mystic

Into the Mystic introduces us to Eileen Leahy, a character who we all immediately fell in love with, and not just because she is literally PERFECT for Sam Winchester (yes I ship it), but also because she is a badass female hunter and this show is most definitely lacking badass female hunters. It also keeps us on the edge of our seats as Lucifer disguised as Castiel infiltrates the bunker and manages to trick Dean. Epic stuff.

54. 11.17 Red Meat

A well known controversial episode, Red Meat penned by Angst Goblin Bobo Berens delves into the darker, more toxic parts of the Winchester brothers relationship, and highlights just how horrific their codependency has become. Love it or hate it, you can’t deny that it highlights that these boys have some serious issues, and this episode marks a turning point from which both brothers, but especially Dean, start to move upwards, towards a more healthy bond.

55. 11.18 Hell's Angel

The fight to save Castiel from Lucifer’s clutches would be so much easier if the depressed angel actually knew how much he was loved by his Winchester family. Unfortunately for him, Dean is a dumbass who never uses his words. Hell’s Angel is heartbreaking but a must watch if you have any doubt in how much Dean Winchester cares for his angelic guardian. Lucifer’s mockery of his desperation is a particularly nasty knife twist, but then again us fans lap this stuff up. 

56. 11.20 Don't Call Me Shurley

The dramatic return of Chuck AKA God. Another must watch episode which explains in some way what the hell God has been doing all this time, whilst Sam and Dean fight to save a small town from a deathly supernatural fog. The tear-jerking song “Fare Thee Well” sung by Rob Benedict at the end not only foreshadows God’s “death” at the end of the season, but also the departure of fan favourite writer Robbie Thompson from the writing team. Emotional indeed.

57. 11.23 Alpha and Omega

The season 11 finale marks the first time in the shows history that a finale doesn’t have a single death. The uplifting ending in which the boys manage to save the world and reunite God and his sister is a one off for Supernatural, especially when it ends with another shock character resurrection - symbolising a new direction for the show and a new showrunner. This was an epic finale that I thoroughly enjoyed.

58. 12.01 Keep Calm and Carry On

The Season 12 premiere saw the return of Mary Winchester, an awkward introduction with a shocked and overjoyed Castiel, and a dramatic race to save Sam from the British Men of Letters. It sets up a far more human mytharc plot than the previous seasons world ending battles between Gods, but with Mary’s introduction, and Andrew Dabb at the wheel, the story is about to get a whole bunch more personal.

59. 12.10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets

One of my all time favourite episodes, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets gives us a very small peek at Castiel’s pre-Winchester past, and his beautiful female former vessel (no matter what form Castiel resides in, he is always beautiful - a fact referenced in show almost as often as out of it!). It also confirms that no matter how much Cas and Dean may bicker with each other, no one else insults Dean Winchesters angel and gets away with it! Bonus points for long suffering third wheel Sam Winchesters epic bitch faces and eye rolls throughout.

60. 12.11 Regarding Dean

This episode is one of those rare beauties which gets the balance between humour and heartbreak just right. As Dean rapidly loses his memories under a witches spell, Sam and Rowena fight to save him. Regarding Dean explores deep themes including Dean’s loss of childhood innocence at a young age, and how a life shrouded in darkness has effected him. Pure heartbreak. Bonus points for THAT scene on the bucking bronco. 

61. 12.12 Stuck in the Middle (With You)

Another all time favourite, directed by our very own Richard Speight Jr in a highly stylised homage to Reservoir Dogs and other Tarantino movies. Castiel takes the role of Mr Orange in this gruesome tale, much to the distress of Mr White AKA Dean. One absolutely devastating love confession later and there isn’t a dry eye in the house. DO NOT SKIP THIS EPISODE.

62. 12.19 The Future

The episode that shook the fandom to it’s core thanks to one tiny moment. A desperate Castiel makes some bad decisions, but not before first using Dean’s love for him against him. The knowledge that Dean at one point made a tailored mixtape of his favourite Led Zeppelin songs and gave it to Castiel as a gift BROKE ME. To this day I am still not over this information. To this day I cannot quite get Dean’s soft voice saying “it’s a gift, you keep those.” out of my head. Just remembering the scene as I write this makes my heart flutter and I STILL can’t believe that the writers took the show in this direction. It’s beautiful.

63. 12.22 Who We Are

This heartbreaking episode reveals the importance of Mary’s return to the show, as Dean goes into his mothers own head to try to save her from brainwashing. A truly epic performance from Jensen Ackles (once again) in which Dean finally admits his own burdens, explains how he was robbed of his childhood, and how he was forced into the role of parent to his younger brother when he was 4 years old. Ah that character development is truly delicious. 

64. 12.23 All Along the Watchtower

The season 12 finale packs a lot of punches. The imminent birth of Lucifer’s nephilim son causes a rift in the universe, opening a doorway to another world. As the tension builds to a dramatic conclusion, Lucifer plays his hand, unwittingly trapping himself in the AU world with one beloved character, as another sacrifices himself and a third tragic death leaves Dean shattered and broken on the ground. 

65. 13.01 Lost and Found

The season 13 premier was everything I have ever wanted from a Supernatural episode - namely PAAAAAIN. The last 10 minutes of this episode in particular had me ugly crying into @margarittet and @tinkdw‘s laps. In fact, every time I rewatch this episode I cry again. As we are introduced to Jack, we say goodbye to Castiel, and my god, I will never get over watching Dean Winchester wrap the body of his angel in preparation for the pyre and try so hard to keep it together. Same Dean. Same.

66. 13.05 Advanced Thanatology

Where Lost and Found broke my heart, Advanced Thanatology stamped on the shattered pieces until the final seconds in which it magically pulled me back together again. This episode was the climactic end to a 5 episode mini grief arc for Dean who just couldn’t get over Castiel’s death. In this episode, we realise just how badly that death has affected Dean, as he foolishly risks his life in his desperation for any kind of win he can get. Episode highlights include a brilliant performance from Billie who has assumed the role of Death as she knocks some sense into Dean, and the final dramatic return of Castiel, proving that “it’s never too late to start all over again”.

67. 13.06 Tombstone

Following 5 episodes of extreme angst and pain, the audience is finally given some relief in this joyful episode which sees the reunited Winchesters take their new son on a trip to cowboy country. Honestly it’s worth watching purely for Castiel’s attempt at playing cowboy to make Dean happy, and Sam Winchesters knowing looks as he pointedly calls out Dean’s dramatic 180 turn from uber depressive to ecstatic happiness following his angels return to the world of the living. Bonus points for this episode getting the hashtag #brokebacksupernatural trending on Twitter. 

68. 13.10 Wayward Sisters

The episode that should have kicked off a whole new spin off were it not for the idiotic decisions of a group of suited white guys with no concept of what decent TV is nowadays. Yes I’m still bitter, Yes Mark Pedowitz can go to hell. Wayward Sisters was a brilliant episode that gave us a whole new generation of badass hunting women, and a story that I was 100% invested in seeing more of. It’s a damn tragedy this never got picked up for its own series.

69. 13.16 Scoobynatural

I can’t write a list of top episodes without adding Scoobynatural. The three Winchester boys find themselves zapped into TV land and meet the Scooby Gang. This episode was just hilarious and brilliant. Bonus points for Castiel’s bond with Shaggy and Scooby, and only a minor deduction for Dean’s over the top flirting with Daphne.

70. 13.21 Beat the Devil

In true Supernatural fashion, as the end of the season gets closer, the tension builds to extreme levels. In the apocalypse world the Winchesters try to find and save Jack and Mary, but Lucifer is on their tails. An unexpected attack leads to a highly traumatic and shocking scene in which Sam is killed and a distraught Dean is only pulled away from further danger by a terrified Castiel. The final scene of this episode in which Lucifer resurrects Sam in a truly horrific display of power over his former victim and vessel is haunting and brilliantly acted by Jared Padalecki. The fear he radiates around Lucifer being the only thing that allows me to continue to take the devil seriously at this point in the show. 

71. 14.08 Byzantium 

I know what you are going to say, I have skipped a BIG chunk of episodes in my list. I have to be honest here and admit that the season 13 finale was possibly one of the worst episodes in Supernatural history and I can’t in good conscience add it to this list. I also think that the writers struggled to pull themselves back up to the high standard of early season 13 after that dreadful finale, so the first half of Season 14 always felt a bit dull for me, however Byzantium does make up for it, in it’s emotional story of how Sam, Dean, and Castiel all deal with the death of their son. The highlights of this episode have to be the scenes in heaven, where Jack reunites with his mother Kelly, and Castiel finds them both in her own piece of paradise in another tear-jerking scene. Castiel’s deal with the creature from the Empty leaving Cas fans everywhere horrified and distraught, but also rather excited at what exactly may trigger the deadly deal. Hopefully this plot point will be picked up next season, as it is definitely highly anticipated.

72. 14.10 Nihilism

Another dream episode for any Dean fans who like to analyse his beautifully deep and layered psyche. Sam and Cas must dive into Dean’s mind in order to free him from the archangel Michael. What they find is worth several essay’s of analysis on this fascinating and wonderful character. Dean’s bar; surrounded by symbols and hints of his life and a very apt song put on repeat - Will Dean ever get his rainbow ending? Only one more season to go until we find out.

73. 14.14 Ouroboros

Following all the drama and separation of the Winchester family, they finally all reunite in this episode to hunt a gorgon. I always prefer the episodes where Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack all work together, and this episode explores the group dynamic perfectly. The gorgon is a charismatic villain who taunts our heroes and has them all fighting to keep up with him. Put it simply this is just a fun episode and exactly what we want from our MOTW episodes in the new Supernatural era.

74. 14.15 Peace of Mind

Just like the previous episode, Peace of Mind is simply one of the more fun and enjoyable episodes of the season. So much so in fact that I have probably re-watched it a dozen times because I loved it so much. In a rare team up between Sam and Cas, they find themselves stuck in a Pleasantville type place. Hilarity ensues, and poor Sam gets himself stuck in a 1950s style marriage and a sweater vest. Castiel reads some raunchy erotica and enjoys it. You will find yourselves laughing at “H-E-double hockey sticks” for hours afterwards. A must watch lighthearted episode in an otherwise dark season.

75. 14.20 Moriah

The season 14 finale was certainly one of the more epic finales we have had, and a meta masterpiece penned by showrunner Andrew Dabb. As Dean’s anger and grief following Mary’s death only deepens, and the rift between him and Castiel continues, it is Sam who discovers that all this time, for their entire lives, they have all been nothing more than characters in a world created by a cruel and manipulative writer God. Chuck’s return and reveal as the villain of the entire show came as a shock to many fans who saw him as a beloved fan favourite, but to many others, myself included, this reveal harmonises this entire story and the Winchesters long and traumatic journey and blows my mind at just how perfect it all is. God Was Never On Your Side, and this has always been a show to stress the importance of free will in a Godless world. 

*chef’s kiss*

Bring on Season 15.

[vannahfanfics]

Sorry to hear your plans got messed up, so here's a Gruvia prompt to cheer you up: snow angel.

Thank you for your patience! TT.TT I can’t believe it took me so long to get to this, but, I am slogging through old requests, little by little! I hope you enjoy this wee little Gruvia fluff :3

Snow Fairies

The cold wind whirled snow flurries around Juvia's barely-clothed form as she stood stoically amongst the rising drifts, eyes closed and poised with concentration. She inhaled deeply and felt the cold oxygen tickling her nasal passages and throat. Slowly, her blue lashes parted to reveal equally sapphirine eyes beneath, and she gazed at the swirling, snowy mountain landscape before her. 

Suddenly, with a loud huff, she thrust out her fist. Snowflakes exploded against her curled knuckles, parting the world only with a cold kiss. She flung her left leg through the snowbank to send tufts of the thick, powdery stuff hurling through the air. She whirled on her other foot, crunching the permafrost layer under the sole of her boots, and the toes of her left foot skimmed the surface of the snowdrift to leave behind a thin line. With another shout, she punched the air again, driving back the invisible foes skulking in the light blizzard. Her blue skirt flapped against her thighs, and the skin between the long slits shone like the pale moon, but Juvia was not cold in the slightest. Sweat bubbled over her body, bringing with it the warmth of exhilaration. 

Juvia exhaled jubilantly, and the breath fogged before her face. Her muscles burned satisfyingly with the exertion, and in her revelry, she even deigned to flex her biceps a bit. She snickered with glee at the sizeable, rock-hard bulge that jumped up. 

"Your training is proving fruitful, I see." Juvia whirled around to see Gray, in nothing but his black boxers, tromping through the snowdrift toward her. Though she had been living with him in the mountain cabin for several months and thus was quite used to seeing him near-naked, the sight of his chiseled abs glinting in the frost and his toned thighs rippling with every stride never failed to set her heart to beating. Crooning, she slapped her hands to her cheeks and wiggled about. 

"Gray is too kind to Juvia~ There is still much more training to be had!" 

"You have grown stronger, though," he smirked and raked his eyes over her body. His stormy-dark irises traveling the length of her curves set her cheeks ablaze, and they bloomed like carnations in the backdrop of bleak white and gray. When he realized just how suggestive the gesture was, he flushed and looked away with a grumble. Juvia danced about, throwing her hips from side to side in pure elation. 

"Thank you, Gray! Juvia is delighted to earn such compliments!" She then grinned widely and proudly balled her fists. "Juvia will work very hard until the days comes that Fairy Tail is revived." 

"Glad to hear it," the ice mage smiled admiringly at her. Juvia's brazen determination vanished like a wisp of smoke in the gale, and she went back to cooing and wriggling. Gray snorted in laughter and tromped a few paces toward the modest wooden cabin they shared. "The sun will be setting soon…" 

Juvia cast a gaze up at the sky to see that he was right. Through the ever-present blanket of thick gray clouds smothering the heavens, bits of sapphire sky poked through; the first of the night's stars had blinked into existence, and twinkled playfully behind the veil of wispy clouds. The fluffy forms glowed bright yellow where the sun hid behind, gradually making its descent towards the horizon. Very little of its golden light forced its way through the barrier, but what did fell upon the world in striking spears of light. The pattern they created upon the snow was not unlike the marbling of light and shadow found on the lush forest floor. Those sunbeams were growing thinner by the second, blipping out of existence one by one. "We should get inside and get a fire going," Gray suggested while stretching one of his arms behind his head. 

"But Juvia wishes to stay out a little longer!" she protested. Gray cast a stern look over his shoulder. 

"Juvia, you need to be careful not to overexert yourself." He then smiled kindly. "I understand your desire to grow as strong as possible, and you will." Juvia flushed and shyly rocked her shoulders back and forth. 

"Juvia appreciates Gray's concern…" At her apparent docility, Gray turned back to the cabin to begin mumbling about the firewood stores. Slyly, Juvia leaned down to gather a sizeable amount of the snow and pack it into a snowball. Careful not to make any undue noise, she straightened up, the loose powder slipping through her fingers to rain back down to its source below. "Juvia appreciates the concern but is just fine, thank you!" She hollered and lobbed the snowball at him. She squealed with glee as it exploded like a firework against the back of his head, coating his dark blue hair in the fine powder. 

"Hey! Juvia!" he yelped and clawed at the coldness spreading over his bare back. Juvia giggled and scampered away from him, but not fast enough. She howled as a snowball crashed right into her bottom, staining a wet spot into the blue fabric of her skirt. With a dour look, she brushed the snow away and shot him a glare. 

"How vulgar, aiming for Juvia's butt!"

"I didn't aim for it!" He protested with a cocky smirk and hurled another snowball at her. This time she managed to duck and hurriedly lunged down to scoop up more of the snow. "Too slow!" Juvia squealed as he tackled her, wrapping his arms around her waist and flinging her down into the snow. She writhed in the cold, icy substance, chuckles bubbling out of her chest as she grabbed a handful of the slush to slap it against his cheek. "Agh!" He whined as some of it got into his mouth, and he spat half-melted snow out of his mouth. "Gross!" 

"Hehehe, Gray should be more considerate of his karma- Eek!" In retaliation, he shoved a whole pile of the snow onto her face. She sat up, spitting snowflakes from her lips and blinking furiously in the cold. "Not funnyyyy!" She whined and wiped the thick powder from her face. 

"You should be more considerate of your karma," he teased. They both giggled, and Juvia began to slide her arms and legs in wide arcs through the snow. 

"Look, Gray! Juvia is making a snow angel."

"Indeed," he mused and watched her playful ministrations. Once her motions had dug the likeness of an angel into the snow, Juvia relaxed with a contented sigh. Juvia's blue locks weaved into the snow as she flopped her head back. The drift embraced her like a pillow, molding around her head. Gray's hands dug into the drift on either side of her shoulders, and his knees snugly hugged her hips. His positioning brought a bright blush to her already cold-flushed cheeks. "Juvia?" He blinked when he noticed the odd expression on her face. 

"Juvia is just so grateful that Gray allows her to stay with him…" she whispered. She was grateful. Juvia had no other place to go other than Fairy Tail. It had become her beloved home. However, her home was no more. Gray could have very easily cast her aside to train by himself for a year, but not only did he trust her enough with his innermost feelings and frustrations, he absolved to make a temporary home with Juvia. The tears that sprang from her eyes froze on her cheeks. "Just so grateful," she repeated hoarsely. 

"Hey," he smiled gently and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, "don't go cryin' on me." She sniffed and obediently attempted to halt the flow of tears. He studied her face for a moment before his gaze gradually traveled down to her lips. Juvia felt her heart thump against her ribcage. "... I couldn't do it, be up here all alone. I need you with me, Juvia. You remind me that there's a place to go back to." 

Juvia released a little squeak and clapped a hand to her mouth, ignoring the clinging particles of snow. Gray had never looked at her the way he was looking at her right then, with eyes burning with affection. Gently, he pried her fingers away from her mouth and settled her hand beside her head, on a blanket of her curling blue hair. "Juvia?" He asked, his voice but a whisper. She nodded meekly to indicate that she was listening. "Promise that I can always come back to you." 

Juvia blinked. Then she smiled lovingly. 

"Of course. Juvia will always be waiting to welcome Gray with open arms. Like a snow angel!" she cried and extended her arms again. He snorted in laughter and nodded. 

"Yeah. That sounds about right." With a long sigh, he sat himself up into a squat before extending himself up. He then pulled Juvia to her feet. Snow rained from their bodies like stardust from comets. As Juvia was brushing the powder from her arms, Gray's suddenly wound around her waist, and he pushed his head into the crook of her neck. Her nerves tingled as his warm breath puffed over her pulse point. "Sorry, I just… Sometimes I need to be reminded of home." Juvia's shocked expression softened, and she embraced him sweetly. 

"Of course. Don't worry, Gray. We will return home together one day." 

The cold wind whirled snow flurries around their barely-clad forms, and with a small smile, Juvia fancied they were snow fairies prancing on the air streams.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

 Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece

[ill-skillsgard]

Blue and Yellow - Part 1 - Axel Cluney

Title: Blue and Yellow

Characters: Axel Cluney x female OC

Warning: 18+ sex/mature themes/medical themes/mentions of blood+injuries/hospitals/violence/drug and alcohol use

Description: A new nurse finds herself entangled in the complicated life of an underground boxer with a slew of problems she cannot fix.

Note: I've wanted to write Axel as a boxer for a while now and finally came up with a storyline I could put him into. I hope you enjoy it and please consider leaving a comment and/or reblogging! Patreon subscribers got to read this last week as part of the early access benefit.

+

A nurse stood outside room 2817, reading over the tattooed man’s chart. He had come in—unconscious—and woke up in a bloody daze. She remembered seeing his swollen head and thinking there wasn’t a chance he hadn’t sustained a brain injury, but the man was alert and became responsive not long after. That was several hours ago when she began her third shift ever at Featherfall General.

The man with the black and blue face was awake and sitting up in his hospital bed. At the request of others, they pulled over the curtains to shield eyes from prodding at the swollen knot of an eyeball enclosed beneath a grotesque protrusion. His bottom lip had swelled to twice the size, and he couldn’t move any facial muscles without pain shooting up his nostrils. His nose stopped bleeding an hour ago and hadn’t sustained any injury beyond an unsightly bruise.

When she shifted the curtain aside, one squinting eye looked her over while the other remained concealed in a mountain of raw skin and broken blood vessels. She hadn’t seen anyone come in with a face like that yet. It made her stomach flip.

He couldn’t smile, but he wanted to. The nurse stood at the foot of his bed, her large brown eyes landing on every object in the room before taking a skittish scan of his face. The navy blue bubble of his closed eye ballooned to his temple and bled down to his cheekbone like an oil spill. It made the contusions on his shoulders and arms look like faded pinches. The bridge of his nose raised an inch off his face, puffy and tender. 

“You turning me loose, Saberrah?” He rasped, angling a look at the badge on a clip hanging out of her scrubs pocket.

“We will keep you a few more hours, on account of your concussion. The doctor will come to go over your CT scan. Would you like another ice pack?”

“Yes, ma’am, ‘ppreciate it.”

“All right, Mr. Cluney. You hang tight and try not to move around. Lie back and rest.”

“Can’t lie down,” he muttered. “Can’t sit up either.”

“That’d be your cracked rib,” she informed him. “Looks like you took a bad beating.”

He squirmed, wincing from the pain shooting through his lung. “Is it a good time to say ‘you should’ve seen the other guy’?”

She took his humour with a small smile. “I don’t want to know what kind of trouble you found for yourself. I just hope it doesn’t happen again. A concussion is a serious thing, Mr. Cluney.”

“Axel, please. You make me feel old,” he said.

“Says here you’re twenty-nine. Not old yet. But dirty thirty is coming up. You might not heal up as quick as you used to when you were a younger trouble-maker.”

Axel grimaced through a weak chuckle. “Dirty thirty. I like that.”

“Hopefully, you live to see them.”

“And what makes you say I’m the trouble-maker? Maybe I was minding my own business.”

She acknowledged him with a nod and a muted smirk. “I’m sure you were, Mr. Cluney.”

“Axel,” he corrected her again.

The voice slipping out of swollen lips was warm, but to look at his face still made her heart twinge. By anyone’s assumption, the man with the beaten face, a broken rib and tattoos was a sucker in a deal gone wrong. Featherfall was no cottage town with walking bridges and newly paved streets. Despite the pleasant melody of its name, it was no more a city than it was a village, but something in-between. It was big enough to get lost in, yet everyone seemed to know each other. It had its fair share of drug problems, and Axel Cluney was the fourth guy she saw that raised more than an eyebrow or two.

Her trained eyes fell to his arms, seeking any inflamed injection sights along his arms or puffy purple fingers. She found nothing out of the ordinary but scraped knuckles and tattoos to make a mother mourn.

“Hello, Sabi,” a voice greeted her from behind.

She turned to a man in standard indigo scrubs. It was the doctor charged with the late evening rounds, a man named Rufus Farber. Sabi relinquished the clipboard to the young doctor and stepped back.

“We meet again, Axel,” Dr. Farber spoke through a tight smile. The shadow in his eyes told of little sleep and too many occupied beds for a Wednesday morning. Though he was fresh out of med school, he had the tired look about him of a man twice his age. 

“Good to see you. Well... What I can of you,” the patient’s words flubbed out of fat lips.

Sabi left to find a cold pack and came back to them laughing like old pals. Dr. Farber was wrapping up and taking inch steps away while scribbling on a prescription pad.

“Your rib should heal up fine if you can keep still for a while. I suggest telling Eugene to take you off the night shift for a couple of weeks,” the doctor said with a wink.

“I reckon I’ll take some of that advice,” Axel replied. “I could use a little vacation.”

The injured man swung a slow gaze at Sabi, then saw the cold pack in her hand. She handed it to him, and he nodded a silent thanks.

The doctor signed the bottom of the note with a flourish of his pen. “Get yourself some painkillers, my man. Check-in at the pharmacy across the street.”

“Thanks, Doc. And thank you, Sabi.”

Sabi flinched at the sound of the patient using her nickname, but not so much that he noticed her reaction. “You take care of yourself, Mr. Cluney. We’ll come to get you in a couple more hours. Do you have somebody who can give you a ride home?”

“Sure do,” Axel replied.

“All right. You take care now.”

~*~

Featherfall General wasn’t the most state-of-the-art facility Sabi had ever worked. The rooms—often packed with patients — overflowed into the corridors. There were entire wings lined with beds, and everyone ran around like headless chickens in a crowded coop. It cut her work out for her, and a dull moment never sat right. There was always somebody screaming, children crying, women giving birth, blood to be mopped, and disruptions in the waiting rooms. 

Outside of the hospital—on the sidewalk and no closer—was where Sabi found a minute of rest. She could smoke a cigarette and forget that a patient had vomited blood on her. Sabi wasn’t alone on the sidewalk—far from it. Patients permitted leaving their rooms lined the walkway, smoking as many cigarettes they could fit into a ten-minute window. Some still hooked to their IV stands. One man with cracked red skin and starch white hospital sheets plastered to his arms and legs took puffs from a rancid gold-band cigarette that his companion held up to his chattering lips.

Sabi looked across the street at the pharmacy and the adjoining pediatrician’s offices. The building was a squat, rectangular structure next to a multi-level parking lot, of which she always heard the family members of patients complaining. The most frequent complaint was the seven-dollar parking fee. People who had dying relatives shouldn’t be expected to pay such a steep price to avoid getting a ticket.

New as she was, Sabi didn’t want to get on wrong sides by taking long breaks, and she chose the perfect moment to return as an ambulance flew into the emergency bay. Strapped to a stretcher, they hauled a tiny woman out of the back and rushed her into the hospital, followed by a tall man in blue jeans and a black tank top. Sabi only saw his side profile before he was halfway down the hall, following the EMTs and the female doctor who had intercepted them.

“It’s another overdose.”

“Fourth one tonight.”

“Third time for her. Can you hear me, Mrs. Cluney?”

They disappeared around a corner and left Sabi blinking in the corridor while others tried to catch glimpses. Most of the folks waiting in the lobby had nothing better to do than gawk at the people with real problems; broken legs, failing hearts, deep gashes, bright yellow skin, and when somebody came in with a worse ailment than them, a chorus of scoffs warbled in the room. They drowned out the only television tuned to the local news and grimaced at each other.

“‘Scuse me? When can we see a doctor? My kid’s sick!”

The triage nurse glared through the glass window. 

“I’ve been here for three hours!”

“Do we have to hack our limbs off to get some attention in this place?”

Sabi ducked out of the waiting room and went to where she was needed most, but she couldn’t be in half a dozen places at once. She tried her best.

It was a long, hectic night, and the sickness she saw didn’t end until the early morning. She dragged her feet and tired eyes into the hospital cafeteria and made for the coffee machine for a cup that might get her home. If she had to get into her car and drive, she would need the caffeine to keep her eyelids drawn; otherwise, she’d be another person getting rushed through the doors and into intensive care.

An old couple sat in a corner, and the same tall man that came in at the end of her first cigarette break occupied a table in the centre. She squinted at him and realized that she knew his face from somewhere. He turned, and a faded crescent moon of bruising arced from his brow to his cheekbone. It was the man with the black and blue face, more yellow and green now that the swelling disappeared. Two large hands dwarfed a paper cup of coffee as he stared off into outer space. 

Before he snapped out of his deep thoughts, Sabi made her way to the table and gave her best comforting smile. Without the swollen balloon of a head, she could make out his facial features. He had sharp cheekbones and two eyes that reminded her of the foggy marshes on her grandparents’ land. He looked up at her and his placid face glimmered with a hint of welcome.

“Oh, hi,” he said, lifting the paper cup to his lips.

“Hello again, Axel. How’s the head? And the rib?” She asked.

He knocked on his temple, tossing out an amused laugh. “All’s well.”

“I saw you come in earlier. I hope everything is okay.”

Axel sighed, a hopeless air leaving his broad shoulders deflated. It was odd to see him dressed in civilian clothes with nothing but a faded bruise on his face. His knuckles still bore scrapes, and dark bags of exhaustion hung beneath his marshy eyes, but he looked healthy. Sabi’s eyes coasted up and down his tattooed arms, habitually looking for signs of drug use and found nothing but vulgar symbols.

“It’s my ma. She’s in a coma, I guess.”

“Oh, jeez. That’s terrible. I’m sorry. I hope she comes out of it soon.”

He shrugged and sipped his coffee again. “Might be the best thing for her. She did it to herself.”

“Oh?”

“I guess that’s what happens when you mix Percs and alcohol for three days straight.”

Sabi gave an understanding nod. It no longer surprised her to learn the extent of drug abuse inside the walls of Featherfall General. Axel looked off into the unknown again, absently drinking his coffee until the cup was empty.

“Are you doing okay?” Sabi asked, unsure if the stranger would take offence to her questions.

“I’ll be all right. My hopes are that she’s okay.”

“I hope so, too.”

Axel raised his empty cup, slid his chair out, and stood up. Sabi’s eyes followed his, and soon she was looking up. He seemed much taller than when he had been a crumpled thing lying in a hospital bed. 

“Well, I should head out. I’m done for the night. Or morning, I guess. Sorry to hear about your mom, and I hope I won’t be seeing you in here again soon.”

“I know, I’m a sight for sore eyes.” Axel pointed at the cloudy bruising around his eye.

“That’s not what I meant,” said Sabi, shaking her head with a smile. “I mean... I hope you don’t find another reason to come back here.”

“If I don’t, how will I ever see you again, Saberrah?”

[thechaoscryptid]

Writer’s Tag Game, Bouncy’s Edition

Many thanks to @tipsyraconteur for tagging me ❤❤ I know I said this was going to be my strictly Naruto blog but there’s definitely some of my other fandoms that are going to worm their way in heh.

Rules: brag to your heart’s content, you’re awesome, and then tag 5-10 people to do the same.

I’m tagging (if you’d like to play, no obligation): @magnustesla, @scarecrowinthewoods, @dunloth, @caped-ace, @alexianite, @benicemurphy, and @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul (you Voltron peeps, it’s Ary 😉)

1) What’s a paragraph you’ve written that you’re really proud of?

From Order and Obedience (KakaIru): 

“Think Konoha’s dog is going to be an easy fuck, ranger?” Kakashi asked, eyeing every possible exit. Just in case. “That my allegiance is so easily swayed?”

“I think if you were still wearing your boots you’d be trembling in them,” Iruka said without missing a beat. “Your desire to serve the light may not make sense to me, but even I can see that the way your skin drinks in the moon would be pleasing to any god. I’m not demanding darkness, only obedience.”

2) Pick a favorite scene from your longest fic!

The scene in Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru) where Sera and Kakashi part ways. I still get chills at the lines “You are no longer my problem. I am no longer your whore.” There’s plenty of fantastic scenes from that fic, but that still remains one of my favorites. That whole arc, really, from when she finds out the news to when it’s finally 100% over. 

3) Give us a snippet of your most recent WIP:

Voltron! This is a part of one of my stories for the Sheith Big Bang coming up:

A galaxy will never be enough to contain my love for you. 

Mechanically, Keith’s hands go through the motions of powering up Black as Krolia’s voice comes through the comm link. It’s another diplomacy mission--another he’d rather skip in favor of liberating some far off colony from oppressors or just staying in bed, unmoving. The lion doesn’t speak to him the way she used to, and neither does anything else. The universe, for all its glory, has become simple.

Dull.

Grey, even with color sprays from passing planets and nebulas.

He chews on the side of his lip as he lets his head tip to the side, checking to make sure things are in order. His mother’s still rattling off information about the mission and he just wants to tell her to be quiet, he’ll figure it out on his own later. He wants to hear the ghost of Shiro’s voice whispering it loves him again.

Keith…

Ghosts are never enough, but Shiro’s I’ll love you until forever ends echoing in his head assuages the pre-mission blues. “Not that it’s ever anything else these days,” he says under his breath. Krolia asks what he said, and he blames it on a squeaky chair. “Gotta get in here and tune up the cockpit when I’m back. Project for Shiro and I.”

“Well, just as long as it doesn’t interfere with things now. You ready to give ‘em hell?”

Keith pastes a smile on his face, though he knows she’s not on the video link. “Would you expect anything different?”

4) If all of your published fics sparred, who would win and why?

Ohh, tough one...based off of stats, Wake the White Wolf, no question. Off of personal preference? Probably Crescendo (SakuOro) right now. 

5) What’s a fic/author you’ve taken inspiration from and in which one of your works did you incorporate that inspiration?

I won’t lie, Tipsy, a lot of my recent style choices came from Scar Tissue 😅 I found I really enjoy storytelling in present tense, with longer flowing lines punctuated by short lil ones for emphasis. It’s appeared in...most of my recent stuff? I switched within the last year or so.

(putting the rest under a cut because there’s some longer answers)

6) Which fanfiction character do you enjoy writing the most? In which one of your fics do you think you wrote them best?

This is another tough one xD I think I actually have to go with a three part answer here, though really, I enjoy writing so many more.

Kakashi Hatake: Shatter Me (KakaIru), best fic

Dazai Osamu: Marionette (Dazushi), best fic

Keith Kogane: since I can’t tell which one of my bang fics yet, I’ll go with my favorite published, which is Unsteady (Sheith). Truly, it’s going to be the fic from the above snippet hehe

7) Smut or fluff? Give us a sneak peek of your favorite fluffy/smutty scene you’ve written.

Mmm, smut. I’ve really got to be in the right mood for fluff, and my not-so-guilty pleasure reading is angsty smut.

My favorite fluffy/smutty scene...I think it’s probably from Reciprocity (KakaSaku)!

He wishes he still had the Sharingan to capture these moments. Sakura’s still got her thin undershirt on, but the delicate hollows of her collarbones call to him as she reaches over to light their lantern. There will be no fire tonight save for the one burning low and heavy in his stomach, as if he’s swallowed molten rock.

“Do I need to do the rest?” she says, dragging her hands up her legs as she stands. “Should I strip for you, Kakashi?”

He stands along with her and tugs off his mask first, then his shirt. Sakura gasps as the angry red of fresh scars is revealed, fingers twitching toward him before he shakes his head. “Let me,” he murmurs.

Inch by inch, the pale curve of her stomach is revealed. Shadows flicker and dance over it along with the flames, and when Kakashi pulls Sakura’s shirt the entire way off he thinks not even the prettiest sunset could compare. There’s several scars--no shinobi makes it out without them--and no shortage of muscle packed into her small frame, but somehow she makes a battleborn body beautiful.

Sakura makes life beautiful.

Her breath hitches when he tells her this, something shifting in her at the tender touch of his lips against her forehead. “You’re sure you don’t want me to just jump you right now?” she says breathlessly.

“No jumping,” he says. “Only falling.”

8) What’s a scene in one of your fics you wish you would receive fanart for?

Uh, literally any one 😅 My top choice, though, I think would be of my favorite OT3 in Desperately:

“I’ll be a lot cuter when the day comes.” Sakura shoved the bandana up and crunched her nose as she looked back with Ibiki. “You might have to leave me at the altar to catch everyone fainting at the sight of me.”

Ibiki’s laugh rumbled through the living room as he gathered her back to his chest. “We’re never leaving you there, baby, you know we couldn’t,” he said. “Or maybe we could take turns catching them. How d’you think your clothes will hold up, Rai?”

“They’ll be fine. I volunteer for catching duty as long as it’s you two falling for me at the end,” he said, spreading his arms over the back of the couch as he watched them sway. “And of course, falling into bed with me later.” Ibiki cocked an eyebrow as Sakura giggled into his scarred chest. “What, you think I”m joking?”

“Never considered it,” Ibiki said. He pulled away from Sakura to trail his hand up her arm, urging her to spin. His uniform lifted from her creamy skin and Raidou sucked in a breath as the purple lace on the bottom of her underwear was revealed. She knew he couldn’t resist those, and Ibiki certainly didn’t mind them either.

“Come here,” he said. Ibiki let her go and gave her a gentle push toward Raidou’s outstretched arms before flopping next to them as the song began to repeat. “I saw those. You can’t hide them from me.” Her hair tickled his face as he kissed over her cheek down to her ear. “Wearing my husband’s shirt and my wife-to-be’s favorite underwear, how scandalous, Sakura,” he purred.

“I’m sure your wife-to-be will be so very displeased I stole them,” she said, pulling back with a mock pout before turning to beg a kiss from Ibiki. “I hear she picked them specifically for tonight because she wanted to get laid.”

9) Would you ever consider turning one of your fics into a podfic? If no, why not?

Not on my own? I have hearing problems, so it’s just really never occurred to me. If anyone else wanted to, though, I wouldn’t say no!

10) The best (or your favourite) 5 reviews you’ve ever gotten! Don’t forget to tell us which one of your fics received them!

There’s so many 😭😭 My commenters are all fucking awesome, but I’ll trawl my saved comments for some highlights!

P5eud0Nym on Wake the White Wolf (KakaIru omegaverse): So, I just wanted to say you’ve been doing a fantastic job. I appreciate that this isn’t, and hasn’t at any point been, a dumb tropey kink fic. That you’ve taken the time to put so much heart into all of this. The fact that you’re exploring the politics, the social issues, and writing all of the characters as being more than just their A/B/O designations, so good. The multifaceted way you write is just really and truly refreshing. It’s obvious how much work and thought you put into this. You’re tackling a lot of really important stuff, from consent to civil rights, and it’s some grade A USDA certified Good Shit. Thanks for the fic and keep up the good work <3

Lilmeliz on Monster (ShigaDabi): AAAAAAA GUARANTEED I CAN BLOW YOUR MIND mwa. Please excuse the lame dua lipa reference I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I couldn’t-- Delicious. Finally some fucking good food. I want to congratulate you. This is such a beautiful, touching, heartwarming masterpiece. I even cried a little. I usually read shiggy with his dark past and his (soul) scars and all that jazz, and venturing into the thought of him having a mere fiber of good will in himself, in his actual self, is risky and prone to be ooc. But here it sounds right. It feels personal, private and even possible, my boi :( Dabi is an angel, I’m dying. I like the reminder “they lie, they kill...” Yes he’s an angel but he’s still evil. I don’t know what else to add but really, this is stunning! IM GONNA TATTOO THISSS amazing work 

Prism0467 on Forbidden (KakaIru): You have written their mutual dependency with such nurturing attention to detail I feel as if I know them. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt...embraced by a work of fanfiction before now...this may well be a first. Your enthusiasm for this pairing comes through loud and clear, I’ll tell you that :)

PearlBear on Crescendo (SakuOro): Wow. Just wow. This is brilliant, heart-wrenching, creative and extremely, extremely well-written. You have such a way with words, I was actually crying. And you adapt their lives as shinobi so seamlessly to situations that happen in real life (how many partners give up on possibilities for their significant one and get nothing in return?). This story managed to move me deeply and all the while, they all were in-character (it hurt when Tsunade looked at Orochimaru in the same way they all do, also loved how Tobirama and Madara are his parents). The omegaverse wasn’t heavy at all, instead it’s well integrated enough that I, who don’t particularly like it, barely noticed and completely accepted it. It’s just the way things are. You manage to convey so, so much in a few words. I’m amazed. So, thank you for sharing this! I am very, very excited for what’s next, whether Orochimaru experiments to save himself, whether Sakumo commits suicide (or worse, dies on this mission), whether... So many possibilities. Your story is outstanding. Thank you for writing this gem!

(insert special shoutout to Tipsy’s review of Testing the Waters...)

and no comment appreciation section would be complete without at least one from @magnustesla! 

This one from Of Scale and Steel (Sheith naga AU): Ary, sometimes I am left speechless and I don’t quite know how to articulate my thoughts after reading one of your fics. Like, everything is just so...so brilliant that it’s like my brain fucks off when I try to get my thoughts down onto a page. Turning well known and beloved characters into something else entirely isn’t easy and often they miss the mark leaving the reader not really connecting with it. But you, you are brilliant and clever in all that you write because damn, I love Naga Keith. It feels like it IS part of canon. And your oc? Super adorable and she just belongs. I really loved her interactions with Shiro and the chewing on his finger had me rollling because it reminded me of when J would test everything by chomping it. Not relevant but it sparked a good laugh from me, especially because it is totally something kids do. I’m so fucking proud of you and I’m excited to see you get your mojo back with this fandom. Love you ❤

[velvetchen]

Dynamic | pt. i

[ back to masterlist ]

Scenario: Superhero AU Pairing: Chen/Reader Word Count: 1830 Rating: T (warning for language)

Summary: You’re the leading superhero of the city, and you’ve fought Dynamo for years. It’s the way it should be - good vs. evil, hero vs. villain. But what happens when a bigger evil threatens everything?

next part >>

The warehouse is dark. Really dark.

Your steps echo on the damp concrete ground, your bright fuschia suit dull and grey in the small light that streams through the holes in the roofing. You would use your powers to move around, maybe find a good hiding spot – but damn, it was getting even darker. You can barely see a thing. From memory you know there should be a mezzanine lining the back wall and a couple of storage units right about –

“Fuck!” you hiss as you crash into something heavy and metal. There was the storage unit, so the mezzanine stairs should be to your left. Maybe you can hide up there to get a good look at the playing field. If only it weren’t so goddamned dark. Your arch nemesis really had great taste.

A buzzing crack lights the air behind you in bright fluorescence. Too late. You whirl around on your heel, raising your Protogun. As if it would help – all the sonic pulses would dissipate too quickly at this range.

A figure floats right above the giant doorway you’d entered through, illuminated eerily by the lightning crackling over his hands and over his arms. He wears a matte black helmet that lets you see none of his face. You know who it is, though.

“Have you been there the whole time, Dynamo?” you growl, your voice echoing back at you. You don’t lower your gun. Your posture stiffens, muscles tensing, ready to move. In the light coming off him you scout out a few landings you could spring to if you needed, and a large hulking object that looked sturdy enough to guard from any fire.

He doesn’t say anything, just chuckles, and suddenly he’s whizzing towards you, still floating. Damn those Hoverboots. You’ve been wanting those for ages, but they’re just too expensive. Besides, you’re hard enough to catch on your own.

Dynamo stops about twenty feet away, the electricity still rippling over his body. “I could have struck you anytime, and you never would have seen it coming.” He throws his head back and laughs again.

This irks you more than you want to admit. “Well, why didn’t you!”

“You did invite me to a fair duel. As far as I know, striking you unawares is cheating.”

You scowl.

“See? I’m not so evil, after all.” You know behind that mask he’s grinning, even though you’ve never seen his face.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, feeling foolish. “Let’s just start.”

“Yes, m’lady.” And then, in a flash, his lightning bolts are shooting out towards you in a wide arc. Your eyes go wide and you move just as quickly, blinking out of view and reappearing fifteen feet in the air, just above the attack. You know if you teleport closer it’ll just be easier for him to strike. You need to play smarter.

Thing is, he usually outwits you.

As you fall back to the ground, you fire a pulse from your gun. It’s a lucky shot. Hit him in the leg. Even at this distance, the pulses are still too weak to do any real damage. You’d increase the power setting, but this is a duel, not an actual battle. Anything lethal is forbidden - and that includes your primary weapon, the Blade. 

Dynamo barely flinches at the shot. He responds with two bolts of lightning instead, crackling along the ground like whips, moving along the damp floor right toward you. You blink out and reappear right behind him, pushing the gun straight into the small of his back. Before you can pull the trigger, you feel the electricity moving through the gun and into your hand. The muscle spasms and you’re forced to let go. You blink, moving in the air and vaulting up onto the mezzanine.

There’s your gun, though. On the ground. Right next to him. You spit out a few choice words.

His laugh carries up to you. “Dynamo, one. Rush, zero. Try again?” He tosses your gun up into the air and you catch it. It’s powered off, probably fried by his lightning. You swear again and smack it with your palm, hard. Nothing.

“I’m going to get you-”

“Not if I get you first!” He’s laughing. This is fun for him – he isn’t taking it seriously. He isn’t taking you seriously. You grit your teeth. You won’t let him win again.

He gathers his lightning up in his hands again, a dense ball of crackling electricity that you recognize as one of his “signature moves.”

You smile. Maybe it’s time to try out a signature move of your own.

Just as the lightning leaves his hand, you drop into a crouch. Then you blink. You’re at his feet. He sees you, but it’s too late. You sweep your leg out in a wide circle, knocking him onto his back. His helmet hits the ground with a thunk. Then you’re on top of him, ignoring the little shocks of electricity where the fabric of your suit touches his. He can kill you anytime. Pump a lethal amount of electricity into your body and stop your heart.

But this is a duel. You smile, your hands around his throat tightening and your knees on either side, pinning him down. “If I had my Blade, you would be dead.”

“If you had your Blade, this wouldn’t be a fair duel.” He sounds annoyed, like he can’t believe you actually cornered him. The score is evened.

Your smile grows sickly sweet. “Exactly.” You climb off him and extend your hand to help him up. “I hope you pay me back for the Protogun you ruined. Those are expensive.”

Dynamo takes your hand. A strong shock runs through it, more powerful than the last one. “Fucking ow! You asshole!” You drop his hand and clutch yours. He laughs hard, slapping the ground.

“There,” he breathes in between bursts of laughter. “Payment.”

“Screw you, Dynamo, what the hell?” The shock’s gone now, but your hand still throbs.

He gets to his feet and hovers so that you have to crane your neck back almost painfully. “That’s what you get for knocking me on my back with no warning.”

“It was a fight! What did you expect me to do, hug you?”

“I wouldn’t complain if you did.” You could imagine that devilish grin again.

“I know you can’t see behind my mask, but I hope you know I’m rolling my eyes really hard right now.”

“Thanks for telling me.” He starts to move backwards. You can still hear the smile in his voice.

“Thanks for letting me know I entertain you so much!”

“Thanks for almost shooting me point-blank!”

“Again, it was a fucking fight!” You have to yell to reach him at the far end of the warehouse. “Fuck off, Dynamo!”

You hear him laugh as he flies up and out of an open window. So that’s how he got in. Sighing, you just walk over to your dead Protogun and pick it back up. Hopefully your nerdy roommates will know how to rewire it.  

You close your eyes and think of the little abandoned shed not too far from here, where you stashed your clothes and other weapons. Teleporting long distances usually takes a lot of energy, so you try not to jump into places with a lot of people. Like your house, for example. Neither of your roommates actually know you're, well, a superhero. They just think you're unusually obsessed with cosplaying Rush, which isn’t out of the ordinary. Rush is pretty popular, if you say so yourself.

You open your eyes, and you're in the shed. Your pink backpack is right where you left it, covered by an old cardboard box. You pull it out and rummage for your clothes, quickly stripping out of your supersuit and pulling on the old jeans and t-shirt. Then, your glasses. You pull your hair out of its high ponytail and let it hang down around your face. Like this - quiet, mousy Y/N - nobody could ever confuse you for Rush, the badass, foulmouthed superhero that’s been saving the city for years.

Saving it from none other than Dynamo, of course.

There are a couple of other villains here and there, but Dynamo is a supervillain. He usually pulls off the big stuff, like bank heists and plane hijackings and whatnot. But you've been fighting each other for so long that you felt almost like...friends.

Friends that tried to kill each other, anyway.

You pack everything up and sling the backpack on your back. Then you step out of the shed and onto a quiet street in the suburbs.

You know this area well enough, you guess. You’re a volunteer teacher at the district elementary school, and quite a few of your students live in this neighborhood. That's how you found this shed, tucked away near a patch of forest, and set up base.

Hiking your pack higher on your shoulders, you start down the pavement, pulling your phone out of your pocket as you walk.

3 new messages.

One was a marketing message. You deleted it. The other two were from your roommate, Kyungsoo.

Soo: Hey Y/N Soo: I'll be out this weekend, I'm visiting some friends. Just letting you know

You quickly tap out a reply.

Y/N: No problem Soo, thanks for the heads-up!

The phone drops from your hands as you collide with something solid for the second time today. You watch in horror as a crack slashes across the screen.

 "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, are you all right?"

You look up into the eyes of a guy, maybe a few years older than you. He’s flushed and slightly sweaty, like he's been running.

"No, no, it's my fault, I should know better than to text while walking-" You laugh nervously as he bends over to pick up the phone for you. When he notices the crack he frowns, almost pouting. “I’m sorry, I can get that fixed for you.”

“It’s totally okay,” you say, smiling again. “No worries at all. Sorry for crashing into you?”

He grins, the corners of his mouth turning up and his eyes crinkling into half-moons. “It’s good. I wasn’t looking where I was going either.” His smile turns sheepish. “Hey, do you live around here? I don’t recognize you.”

“No, um, I’m just passing through,” you say, laughing nervously again.

“Oh. Nice meeting you. I’m Jongdae,” he says, holding his hand out. You grasp it uncertainly and shake, once, your skin tingling oddly where it touches his. Damn nerves. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you too.”

“See you around, Y/N,” he says, then shoves his hands in his pockets and starts off, whistling a light tune.

You look at your hand. It’s still tingling. Then you look back at him as he walks away. He was handsome, sure, but handsome enough to give you butterflies all over? You shake your head and head off, too. 

[viva-la-sterek]

[[((soulmates & soulmarks))]]

Some of the more recents 2017 fics from one of my absolute favorite tropes!! 

★=Fics that could use more kudos, comments, and appreciation.

TATTOO THIS FIC ONTO MY FRIcKEN FOREHEAD!: 

turn the other cheek by @redhoodedwolf​ (1/1 | 12,465 | Teen)

Derek Hale was not born a werewolf.

Stiles Stilinski was not born with a soulmark.

Soulmate Skin Writing! Coolest. Idea. Ever!: 

Word by Word by @cobrilee​ (1/1 | 11,843 | Teen) 

The first time Derek sees the words, he’s had a really shitty day. Laura was on his case again, all in the name of sisterly love, of course, and Cora was wielding her usual acerbic wit like a rapier. He’d gotten to the scene of a shooting too late and the victim had died before Derek could call for an ambulance. His Camaro had gotten a flat and while he was attempting to change the tire on the side of the road, someone drove by and sent a wave of muddy water arcing, drenching him, and he was cold, muddy, and miserable.

Then, as he was sliding into the front seat after toweling off as best as he could, he felt something prickling on his arm and glanced down. Shaky, thin lines began appearing, little by little, and he could do no more than stare as the infamous phrase formed on his arm.

Are you 18?

Such a fun addicting read! Love it to pieces: 

Happy Birthday To Me by hbunting1403 (1/1 | 10,820 | Mature) 

"Hi there, and welcome to Full Moon Jewellery. Thanks for browsing! I’m a designer based in California whose only dream in life is to get through art school without having to sell off my organs - which, by the way, is still on the table. You need a kidney? Let me know in your personalisation request, and I’m sure we can work something out. Guy’s gotta have that dollar to buy curly fries."

It's Laura's 30th birthday and Derek sucks at buying gifts. Then he stumbles across 'Full Moon Jewellery', an Etsy store run by an art student who has strange ideas about nutrition, and whose enthusiasm for his new commission is actually kind of adorable.

In which the whole pack wants Derek to get a life, and Derek just wants some peace.

(But not really)

THIS FIC ONLY HAS 1 COMMENT! It so deserves better!: 

★I’m Sorry, What? by fancyachatup (1/1 | 2,416 | Teen)

Basically Stiles is Derek's mate but Derek doesn't tell him until Stiles is getting (fake) married

Sweet Precious Fluffy Fluff: 

An Unpredictable Amount of Turtles by skoosiepants / @pantstomatch (1/1 | 5,942 | Teen) 

Stiles says, “I have a five year plan. A five year plan to popularity that will tank the minute I meet this guy.”

“I feel like you’re exaggerating,” Scott says, but Scott has a katana-wielding badass waiting for him at the other end of the rainbow, and Stiles has terrariums.

Or—

A soulmate au with turtles and angst.

I LIVE!!!: 

Yeah, Pass The Salt, Stiles by CallieB / @13callieb (1/1 | 3,609 | Gen)

They're not particularly inspiring words. Not like the long stream of goo spilling over Scotty's arm. But somewhere, Stiles' soulmate is out there, waiting to say them to him.

If only he could stop thinking about the mysterious hot stranger he met in the woods...

Oh boy, I cannot wait to see this completed!! 

★ I know I’ll go (blame it on me) by @peasantaries​ (WIP 2/3 | 3,432 | Teen)

Stiles and Derek both have their reasons, and they'll both fight tooth and nail to avoid one another, but it turns out to be a lot harder to fight the force of gravity.

Love the whole mood of this fic. Darker, angsty: 

★Mischief by AshVee (1/1 | 6,613 | NR) 

Amid danger and depression, self-denial and self-depreciation, two people realize that they fit together better broken than they ever would have whole.

Poor Poor Derek! This is great!: 

In Which Laura Is Never Going To Let Derek Live This Down by Omimouse / @joisbishmyoga​ (1/1 | 1,587 | Teen)

“Laura, for the love of god, stop laughing and get him off of me.”

Adorable: 

Ink Me by AsagiStilinski (1/1 | 4,281 | Gen) 

Derek is never going to find his soulmate, because there's no way in hell there exists a man named Mieczyslaw in Beacon Hills

Then Erica hires Stiles

[evils--reign]

                 beacon hills.     her memories of what used to be home are vague and fleeting. she recalls the woodland, where her coven would perform rituals from the family grimoire. regina was far too young at the time to participate, let alone remember in detail     --     she was only young when the hale’s perished in fire, and the mills had fled in to the night, fearing that they would be next. witches and wolves were allies, to a degree. but self-preservation had kicked in and she recalls, her mother’s vice-like grip, fingers curled around a wrist hard enough to bruise. absentmindedly, regina rubs her hands together, thumb brushing over unblemished skin.

                                                  wandering their old clearing, overgrown and off-the-track, regina walked the perimeter in heels that have no business on woodland floor. she’s been here less than a week and she’ll start school come monday     ...     this might be the only chance she gets to explore sacred ground until the next moon, when her magic is at it’s peak and she’ll be able to tap in to the family bloodline, and complete the circle.     ‘    revelare,     ‘     latin murmured under breath, her hand waves out and fingers curl in to the air, palm slowly turning from ground to sky. she continues to walk, unfaltering step strong and precise. the same word repeats on her tongue, blood beginning to sing with the familiar call of magic in the air. as she moves, the wind at her feet gathers fallen leaves and loose grass, brushing it away     --     drawn in to the earth itself, a stone circle the colour of night. 

                       ‘     praesidio,     ‘      nails scratch at the soft skin of her palm as fingers curl inwards, a fist forming. the air around her thickens, the skies above beginning to darken as clouds start to form, angry and grey. regina grits her teeth, brow knit in concentration. this would be easier with another to help channel the magic regina conjures, but she’d come to beacon hills of her own free will, leaving her monstrous mother behind and, consequently, the coven. 

                                                  storm gathers overhead, and regina’s eyes are drawn to the sky. a whisper passes her lips,     ‘     pluviam,     ‘     and rainfall. light, and brief, but it draws a satisfied smile. it doesn’t last, this peace and quiet. a howl catches her off-guard, her head turning quickly and her hand falling to her side. the rain soaks in to the soil under heel, the air thinning as her magic recedes and regina blinks owlishly at new company. 

                         as far as she knew, the hales were the only pack in beacon hills, and she was under the impression that they had all died years ago.     ‘     i know you’re there,     ‘     despite the thundering of her heart     (     regina’s never faced a wolf alone     )     she murmurs her acknowledgement, following the tilt of her head. braid over shoulder, regina’s steps bring her closer to the tree line.     ‘     i’m not going to stand out here all night, i have better things to do.     ‘

🍎     *     sc     --     @howlgrief     !!

[myrish-lace-love]

Love as strong as hearts of kyber

for @aryagotgendry

A Jyn x Cassian story

Summary: Jyn knows toughness, grit, steel bars, cement walls. She’s grown unaccustomed to softness, labeled it a luxury, and her past makes her wary of physical intimacy. But Cassian’s different, and after Scarif, Jyn grows closer to him.

Also there’s an assist from Baze and Chirrut who are sick of these two mooning about.  :)

Warning: Smut below cut!

***

Jyn’s never been with a man. This isn’t a fact she intends to share, it’s simply a reality, an artifact of her past. She was a soldier in Saw’s army until she was sixteen, and he kept his men in line. But Saw couldn’t protect her all the time, and during her last two years in the unit, she learned to turn away from leers, ignored ugly, crude words muttered next to her cot, deflected unwanted touches. Jyn taught herself to threaten with a glare, and a knife. The knife mattered, and she made the glare count.

After Saw left her behind, she closed herself off completely. She was a runaway, and men were a complication she didn’t need. It was practical to put that barrier up on the road, to brush off stuttering advances when she was just trying to get a goddamned drink in a bar.

Cassian’s different, though, so different Jyn isn’t quite sure what to do. Jyn pulls away from him after Scarif, after their improbable rescue, because she’s grieving, they all are, especially since Bodhi didn’t make it. Jyn also holds back because the emotional intensity she felt during those last minutes was raw and real. She felt like she could swim in it, open herself up and drown. After the adrenaline rush fades, she’s not sure she can trust her emotions, and it’s simpler to shove them aside. There’s still a war on, after all.

Cassian respects her choice, and doesn’t push her. He just asks her from time to time, in a quiet voice, “Are you all right?”

She’s grateful. She’s also hard-pressed to admit she misses him.

They start again, slowly. He brushes her hand, not quite a squeeze, before battle, before they suit up and her headset fills with static, call signs and barked orders.

A few weeks later, in a little-used section of the loading dock at the rebel base, Jyn’s bent over, trying to catch her breath. Her side aches from a blow she took that threw her into the muck on the planet’s surface. Cassian rounds the corner, helmet under his arm, trying to look for all the world like it’s no big deal, he comes to this abandoned location frequently, he’s just out for a stroll.

Jyn casts about for a sarcastic remark but she can’t speak yet, so she gives him what she hopes is a curt nod.

“You have a knack for finding dirt and mud as soon as we land, you know that, right?” Cassian’s tone is light, but she sees concern in his eyes. He walks over and puts his arm around her shoulders, holding her up, taking on some of her weight, like she did for him when they limped to the elevator.

“Mud,” she wheezes.

“Hmm?” His face is next to hers, but he’s not looking at her. She can feel how warm and solid he is, and see his dark hair out of the corner of her eye.

She points to his jacket, lets her hand drop. “Mud, you’ll get mud on your clothes.”

Cassian shrugs. “Occupational hazard.”

“Of the war?”

“Of looking out for you.”

“Don’t need you to.” She’s pretty sure that’s a lie, she’s leaning into him now, breathing easier, and she doesn’t want him to leave.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly, almost as if he heard her last thought.

The next time the klaxon sounds and they’re gearing up for a fight, when he brushes her hand, she catches his hand and squeezes back.

***

A month later, Cassian’s hurt when he stumbles on uneven ground after a bomb explodes, twisting his ankle.

Jyn’s furious as she bangs down the metal ladder. She’d heard the call for a medic over the comm, and an anguished sound from Cassian that reverberated in her ears, put her nerves on high alert. She charges through the crowd to find him sitting on a fuel drum, wincing. Baze and Chirrut are with him, which cools her anger slightly.

Jyn doesn’t want to make a scene, and she knows all soldiers take risks, but how could he be so careless?

“How bad?” she says, keeping her voice steady.

Baze grunts. “He’ll be fine. Maybe tell him not to walk into a minefield next time.”

Jyn crouches so she’s face-to-face with Cassian. She can see the sheen of sweat on his face, the creases on his forehead that indicate he’s in serious pain.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

“It’s good to see you too, Jyn.” Cassian’s smile is sweet enough that she loses her train of thought briefly.

“Tell me.”

He closes his eyes. “There was a boy. A little boy. Right in the middle of the field. He wasn’t going to make it out alive. I had to. I had to, Jyn.”

She sighs because she knows he’s right, she did the same back on Jedha, she would have done the same if she’d been with him.

“Just…just be careful, okay?” Baze had wandered off to find out what’s taking the medic team so long, and Chirrut seems turned inward, smiling slightly. It’s the closest they’ll come to being alone.

Jyn watches Cassian’s face spasm. She puts her hand on his shoulder, wishing she could bear this for him. The move throws him off balance, and he starts to slip off the drum. She catches him and pulls him towards her, tucking his head under her chin. She inhales his scent, and the rest of the crowd fades away as she feels an echo of their last moment on Scarif, when she held on tight to him and knew he was someone she could let herself love.

Jyn runs her fingers through his hair once, whispering in his ear. “Don’t, Cassian. Don’t leave.”

Cassian hugs her back, turns his cheek so she’s the only one who can hear him. “I won’t. I promise, Jyn. I promise.” Her heart beats faster at the intensity of his tone. They cling to each other for a few more minutes, until she feels someone tap her shoulder. Jyn lets a swarm of white-clothed medics take him away, feeling frustrated and useless. Her stomach rumbles, and she figures she should go fuel up on the bland porridge that passes for dinner at the base. It’s a step up from prison food, though, and she’s not particular about what she eats.

She’s about to leave when Chirrut puts a hand on her arm. Jyn’s pretty sure she’d sound crazy if anyone asked her to describe how she and Chirrut communicate. It’s been this way from the beginning, since she first saw his black robe slashed with red in the marketplace and heard him call out to her. There’s some kind of field that shimmers between them, lets her talk to him silently, in images and feelings and colors.

Sky blue. Safe. Nourish each other.

She sends a question back. Grey, worry, past, fear, faint hope.

Chirrut nods, swings his staff in a tiny arc. White, new, loyal, love.

That last feeling, love, suffuses her senses, clears her mind. She covers Chirrut’s hand with her own, gratitude, and heads to the dining hall.

***

It’s practically winter when they’re marooned after a mission. The aircraft that was supposed to retrieve them got re-routed for an emergency. They’re told it was needed as backup for rebels outgunned in another system. Cassian, Jyn, Baze and Chirrut can hardly argue with the choice, it’s what saved their lives on Scarif. But the air isn’t getting any warmer, and Jyn’s starting to shake inside her jacket.  

All four of them are used to sleeping on cold, hard ground. But Jyn’s just recovered from a cough, and Cassian is coming off of eight straight nights of flying, so Baze hands over the one tent pack they have. He cuts off Jyn’s protests. “You’re no use to us sick. Get in there, both of you.”

Jyn and Cassian have the tent set up in no time. Jyn feels one last gust of guilt when she looks at Chirrut settled in next to a boulder, but Baze glares at her and points, so she closes the tent flap. They’re quiet as they get ready for bed. The tent’s roomy, thankfully, but Jyn’s acutely aware of how close Cassian is. Jyn finally switches off the lantern.  She can hear the wind blowing over the sides of the canvas.

“Do you think the ship will make it?” Jyn wishes she could call the question back, but it hangs heavy in the air.

She waits a long moment for Cassian’s reply. “I hope so. Maybe they’ll get everyone, this time.”

Jyn takes his hand in the dark. She knows he’s thinking about Bodhi. She can feel the heat radiating from him. She rolls into his arms and he draws her closer, breathes with her, until she tips her face up, and brushes his lips.

He goes still, then rests his forehead on hers. His eyes are dark as coal, burning, asking, because Cassian would not take anything Jyn wouldn’t give willingly. She brushes his lips again, and he runs his hands through her hair, and slowly, slowly lowers his mouth to hers, tracing her forehead, her cheeks, her neck with his lips. She feels heat coursing through her as he kisses her behind her ear, and lets out a small moan.  "Cassian, I…“ She doesn’t know how to tell him that she wants him, badly, but she’s scared, she may need to stop, she’s not sure what she is and isn’t ready for.

Cassian pulls back, caresses her cheek with his thumb. “Only what you want, Jyn.” His voice is soft and he has the same open, loving expression she saw when he took her hand on the beach.

She relaxes, and reaches for him, kissing him eagerly now, thrilling at the noise he makes low in his throat when she opens her mouth to him.  She wants to feel his skin under her hands, be as close to him as she possibly can. She straddles him and tugs at the hem of his shirt, urging him to take it off. He pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside, mussing his hair. He holds her close, and she sighs at the feel of his bare chest. She trails kisses of her own down his neck, smiling to herself when she feels his hands tighten at her hips. She pulls her own shirt off, ready to lean down and kiss him again. He stops her, gently, and she’s confused. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, gives her a small, rueful smile. “Nothing, I just - you’re beautiful, Jyn, I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long, can I - can I look at you, for a moment?”

Jyn’s never thought of herself as looking one way or another, doesn’t dwell on beauty as a general principle. She finds Cassian attractive, has since the first moment she saw him, if she’s honest, but hadn’t stopped to think how he might react to seeing her naked. She squints at him. “Would you like me to take all of my clothes off?”

Cassian laughs. It’s a joyous sound, probably loud enough to be heard across the field, and she’d be embarrassed, if she couldn’t see the adoration in his eyes. “I would, very much, but you don’t have to, Jyn, I’m just happy to be in this tent with you.” His sincerity decides her, and Jyn knows what she wants. She shrugs, smiling down at him. “Well, I don’t see any reason for either of us to have clothes on.”

“I’m not going to argue with that,” Cassian murmurs, but it takes a good half hour for them to get undressed. Cassian keeps pausing, running his hand over her bra, whispering how lovely she is, how good it feels to touch her. He kisses her hipbone as he eases her underwear off, sending shivers down her spine, threads his hands through her hair again and again, nuzzling the spot he’s found behind her ear that makes her knees weak.

Jyn’s already panting and needy when Cassian slips a hand between her thighs. He groans when he finds her wet and aching, sways towards her, and she can see beads of sweat at his hairline. She frames his face with her hands. He’s breathing hard, pupils blown, but she understands that if she told him to stop now he would, without hesitation. Jyn sees her own feelings mirrored in his eyes, and she feels a final loosening in her chest, an expansion, love.

“Yes, Cassian,” she sighs, because she senses he needs to hear it. He kisses her with reverence, and she shifts and lowers herself so that he’s fully sheathed inside her. He huffs out her name, tightens his arm around her waist. The pain she anticipates never materializes. She’s overwhelmed by the sweet fullness of him inside her. He’s whispering into her ear as he thrusts, but she’s too lost in the sensation coiling in her belly to hear him. They’re moving in sync, now, and this isn’t any different than the connection they have constantly, how they instinctively cover each other, look out for each other, love each other.  

She’s close to something she can’t name, feeling a spark build deep inside her as she locks her arms around him. Cassian’s close, too, and as much as he might want this to last, she feels the tension in his shoulders. She buries her face in his neck as he slides a finger between them and she cries out as a wave of pure pleasure crests over her once, and then again, as he snaps his hips into her, her name spilling from his lips.

Jyn presses a kiss to his jaw as she comes back down to earth, tasting salt on his skin. Cassian smooths his hands over her back, and she feels the rise and fall of his chest slow with each minute that passes. The heat rolling off them starts to dissipate. Cassian pulls the covers around them when goosebumps form on Jyn’s arm. She’s floating, light, hazy, ensconced in his embrace. They fall asleep that way, Jyn turned into his chest, Cassian’s lips brushing her hair, and for once in her life Jyn is not plagued by dreams.

***

Baze and Chirrut have already made coffee when Jyn and Cassian stumble out of the tent. She’d thought about staggering their exits, having Cassian leave first, but there’s really no point in trying to hide. Besides, Jyn’s pretty certain the two older men are wise to them.

Baze hands her a mug, and Jyn takes the first bitter, welcome sip. She holds the steaming cup between her hands, and inches closer to the fire. Cassian’s leaning in to hear something Baze is telling him when the plane pierces the clouds. They break camp quickly, making sure to stamp out the flames. Cassian’s on the ramp first, but he looks back for Jyn, extending his hand. She takes it, right there out in the open, and they pass through the door, heads bent together.

“Remember when I pulled that trick?” Chirrut nudges Baze. “Only one tent, when we got lost on that island?”

“We were never lost,” Baze rumbles, but he rubs Chirrut’s back affectionately. “Had to get those two together somehow.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Cassian?” Baze grunts. “He hurts my little sister, I kill him. Simple.”

Chirrut gives Baze the same enigmatic smile he’s seen for fifteen years. “They are meant to be a pair. Stronger that way. The Force is with them.”

Baze keeps himself from rolling his eyes, though he knows Chirrut’s probably right. “Come on, I’m not sleeping here another night. Let’s get on board before the pilot gives up on us.”

[edc-creations-blog]

Telling Stories by Cheri Paris Edwards

Sometimes life throws you a curveball…

Navigating middle-age is a challenge for 45-year old Genelle “Gigi” Golden. First the death of her mother, then her long time live-in boyfriend abruptly trades her in for a new model. Determined to restart her life Gigl packs her bags and heads to the Southwest. When things don’t go as planned, Gigi finds herself caught between the proverbial ‘rock and a hard place’; and an impulsive decision turns her life in an unexpected direction.

Then ex-military man Desmond Wright enters her life. Although physically changed by a skin disease it hasn’t dampened Desmond’s confidence or lessened his appeal to the opposite sex. But, Desmond’s life is complicated by an spoiled adult daughter, who treats his home like it has a revolving door, and a mother who won’t let him forget that he’s yet to find the love of his life.

When things falls apart, Gigi discovers that true friends reveal themselves in the toughest times and that grace comes when you least expect it.

    Chapter One

Genelle- Chasing Waterfalls

Somewhere I read that the sky doesn’t get dark anymore. Well, I know for a fact it’s not true. Tonight, a deep black sky arches above, like an inky tarp dotted with glittering lights. In fact, the entire scene is as picturesque as one of those postcards hanging on the small wire carousel that sits on the shiny front counter of the hotel gift shop. Sand spreads like a fine white coverlet to the ocean’s edge. There, ripples nudged by a soft wind pause, glide effortlessly back into the sea. And perched at the edge of the horizon, a fat moon beams at his shimmery reflection.

Dragging my bare toes through the warm sand, I slowly make my way back toward the squat building that sits at the top of a small hill. By day, the charisma of the eccentric owners, Sam and Anthony, illuminates the restaurant and bar unimaginatively called the Tiki Lounge. At night, it’s the place that transforms. Rows of slender pendant lamps dangle from the wooden rafters above the terrace, turning it into a magical oasis. Even the breeze is enchanting, fragrant with spicy sandalwood incense and sweet plumeria blooms. Stepping onto the pebbled deck, I find an empty table, sink onto the emerald cushion of a chair. I slide my lips over the straw of the daiquiri I hold between my hands. Take a long thirsty swallow.

My eyes drift to the patio doors.

He walks in.

Eyes flashing, he threads through the cluster of tables and chairs. Makes his way toward me, as rhythmically as a slow, sweet song.

“Hey . . . ” he says huskily as he nears my table. His gaze holds mine.

“Hey yourself . . . ” I manage to whisper, breathless from the pounding of my heart.

My nostrils quiver. His scent like a sparkling forest after a burst of summer rain. Flicking my tongue, I moisten my lips, ready for the pressure of his mouth on mine.

Then a sound.

“Jeantel!”

Focus, I tell myself. I lock my eyes on the handsome planes of the face in front of me.

That sound again.

Then, “Jeantel!” Louder this time.

The smooth, angular face poised so delectably near begins to waver.

“Don’t go,” I whisper.

“Over here, Jeantel!”

My black prince’s face dims.

“Jeantel!”

Grudgingly, I let the fantasy slide away.

“Whaaat?” I yell. Yank myself upright. Blink rapidly. Slowly, the cramped interior of my car grows clear.

“It’s me. James.”

“I see you,” I tell the wiry man peering through the passenger window of my Nissan Altima. “What do you want?”

Rudeness is not usually my style, but I convince myself rather easily that there’s no real reason to feel bad about being shitty to James, who I’ve known less than a week. Allowing myself to indulge in a little fantasy has always been a way for me to cope, and the blame for the abrupt ending of this morning’s session lies squarely at James’s feet.

“Gonna let me in or what?” James snatches a face towel that hasn’t seen a washing in a good long while from the back pocket of his jeans, wipes the sweat around on his face.

“Okay,” I tell him as I flick open the door latch.

“Something wrong?” James asks as he climbs inside, flops on the seat.

  ( Continued… )

© 2018 All rights reserved. Book excerpt reprinted by permission of the author, Cheri Paris Edwards. Do not reproduce, copy or use without the author’s written permission. This excerpt is used for promotional purposes only.

  Purchase Telling Stories by Cheri Paris Edwards Amazon Download: http://a.co/d/eVVYwqo

    Intimate Conversation with Cheri Paris Edwards

Cheri Paris Edwards is the author of “Plenty Good Room” and the “The Other Sister.” Edwards work has been praised by “Publisher’s Weekly” and “Booklist.” Edwards is a PhD Candidate at the University of North Texas and an Associate Professor.

  BPM: It is such a pleasure to have you join us to discuss, “Telling Stories.” Describe yourself in three words. “Passionate, creative and funny.”

    BPM: What drove you to publish your first book or create your first series? How long have you been writing? I have been writing since I was a teen when I wrote poetry. I wrote my first novel after literary agent Denise Stinson called me after I’d submitted a non-fiction effort and asked had I ever considered fiction. That novel didn’t ever get published but my next effort, “Plenty Good Room” was published by Denise when she was also an editor for Walk Worthy at Warner books.

    BPM: Describe what you do outside of writing to expand your business or brand. Well, I am an Associate Professor at Tarrant County College which is a huge college with almost 40,000 students on five campuses. I work at the Trinity River Campus in downtown Fort Worth. The head of our Tahita Fulkerson library is Dr. Susan Smith and she’s a great person in my view. Like me, she comes to TCC from the University of North Texas. Anyway, she read a proof of “Telling Stories,” and wrote that she REALLY liked it. Consequently, she ordered copies for the library and I spoke at an event on November 1st.

On the other hand, it’s been a bit hard, to talk about my writing in some academic settings. I am a Lit major, and yet I definitely do NOT write literary fiction and many academics do not take romance lit or Christian fiction seriously. They have a specific writing style and expectations for content that they believe is valuable, particularly when it comes to literature written by African-Americans.

I am self-taught as a fiction writer and most promote a programmatic approach to writing fiction that’s gained by going through an MFA program. This is particularly true, because I’ve had to learn to understand the expectations of genre better, and had to readjust my writing to create the kind of pacing that is different from academic or some non-fiction writing. And, I am also self-published. So, I’ve definitely had to find my own confidence. However, I am blessed to have a few great friends who served as beta readers and gave me valuable feedback and others who are just wonderfully supportive of my efforts. I also feel I’ll get nice support from some at the Community College level.

Additionally, I just purchased home in what is called the Great Southwest area in Dallas County and plan to visit libraries to get the book on library shelves in the towns of Lancaster, DeSoto and Cedar Hill. These small cities are predominantly African-American and Lancaster and DeSoto still shelve copies of “Plenty Good Room” It’s also a way of getting my name on local invites to other events where I can sell my book. Unfortunately, I missed the Fort Worth library author’s program this year, but will try to make it next time.

    BPM: What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your body of work/books? Well, the first time out I was quite surprised at how difficult it was for black writers to get a publishing deal. I don’t know why I didn’t know. After studying African-American history and realizing that this has been an historical challenge for blacks, I understand the constraints of the publishing landscape better. I mean blacks in the not too distant past (like Harlem Renaissance year) really were writing a great deal of the time for a white audience because that’s primarily who had the leisure time, and the ability to read. And, even when weren’t writing for them, they were quite aware their “gaze” was on the work, and that likely influenced how it was written (and what was written) as well.

It’s still difficult today to find publishers for stories about blacks just living their lives, which is situation that Zora Neale Hurston lamented many years ago in a 1950 essay entitled, “What White Publishers Won’t Print.” Well, “Telling Stories” is about black folks just living their lives and they’re older folks (as am I) which makes both me and novel even less interesting to traditional publishers.

So, after a few queries, and rejections and looking at “wish lists from diverse writers” that was just ridiculous in my opinion, I decided since I know how to do graphics and can content edit reasonably well, that I would just again publish myself. One of my TWU colleagues, Erin Marissa Russell, is a fantastic copy-editor and she took the job on pro-bono and I’m very grateful for her help. However, I do feel books should be read across racial lines, because they often identify what connects us as humans.

    BPM: How did you choose the genre you write in? Have you considered writing in another genre? I am writing in another genre! And, this is also the first novel written in first-person narrative voice. I began my published career in Christian fiction but it wasn’t purposeful. I wrote a non-fiction book with Christian elements and was told when I submitted it on the open market, I should query Christian publishers and agents. And, because I included those elements in my fiction, after talking with Denise Stinson, I followed the same path in other writings. I really never felt it was a great fit, because my first story didn’t have the arc that most Christian fiction writings do. I don’t think readers knew how to handle the story because of that.

I decided this time out to write a story that was more ME. In hindsight I also think including Christian elements in my fiction and my topics were subconsciously influenced by some internal obligations I felt I had to meet. Now, I just feel freed from those and allowed this story to flow without the feeling that I had to take on any issue or problems or curtail much about how I wanted to tell the story. For example, I curse, so there’s cursing. *lol* And, I am a person who laughs a lot and who often relies on humor to help deal with life’s struggles, so writing a humorous book is also a natural.

    BPM: Tell us about your most recent work. It is entitled, “Telling Stories” and is available right now only at Amazon, in print and e-book. Available on Nook and Kindle?

    BPM: Introduce us to the people in the book! Give us some insight into your main characters or the speakers. There’s quite a few characters in the book. The story is narrated in the alternating voices of Genelle Golden (or Gigi as she’s called once she moves to Texas) and Desmond Wright. Both are middle-aged and both face challenges in their lives. Gigi has relocated to Texas and when a living situation doesn’t work out, has to take shelter in her car. In other words, she’s homeless.

Some of the people she meets along the way help her through the situation, even when they don’t know all that’s going on in her life. We also meet Butterfly who owns the hair salon where Gigi gets a job, Juan and Imogene who work there and all of the others who stop through or are there for hair appointments. And there’s James, the waitress who helps Gigi and Gigi’s sister Neecie, who’s a bit of a snob.

Desmond comes with his own family and baggage. Mama, is a petite, well-coiffed churchgoer, who will curse you out in “a voice sweet as Karo syrup.” Desmond is a Mama’s boy, and Mama thinks Desmond should hurry up and find a wife! He’s a bit of a commitment-phobe though and though he’s dated quite a bit, none of the women have been quite right. Desmond also has an adult daughter. Malaika is spoiled (by Desmond, of course!) and he can’t keep her out of his pocket or his house, since she’s always underwhelmed by the efforts of her husband Ray. He also has a grandson Clint, who is a whirling dervish one moment, and wise beyond his years the next. And, Desmond has the skin disease vitiligo, although he brags its not dampened his swagger.

    BPM: What’s so unique about their story-line or voice in the story? What makes each one so special? Gigi and Desmond have their own distinct voices, challenges, and their lives are quite different, but they are similar in that they both are middle-age and without partners and somehow they come together. Each of them also have backstory that contributes to the emotional baggage they must wade through to really connect which is revealed in brief reminiscences about past events and both working through grief about their parents who have passed away.

    BPM: Share one specific point in your book that resonated with your present situation or journey. Like Gigi, I moved to Texas after a series of losses. I lost my mother, and my sons were grown and had moved out. Also like Gigi, I was chronically underemployed while living in Illinois and wasn’t working at all when I decided to leave. Additionally a second contract with a publisher was on the verge of falling apart. Once I decided to relocate, I literally packed my three bedroom townhouse on my own, and with help of a nephew, my brother-in law and a friend, packed all I had into storage and the rest in my car within a few weeks time. Leaving behind below 32 degree temps, ice and snow, my toy poodle Mocha and I took a long rainy ride to Texas.

It was a challenging start. About a year later I returned to school though. I earned my Master’s in English in 2014 and then was accepted into the Literature program at The University of North Texas. I also was able to teach many wonderful students teaching at both colleges before taking the position here last year. I didn’t even have furniture here for a year and a half. I couldn’t move my bed though and slept on an inflatable mattress and kept my clothes in open suitcases until two years ago!

    BPM: Are there certain characters you would like to go back to or is there a theme or idea you’d love to work with? Oh, I don’t know. I loved these characters. I haven’t thought seriously about writing more about any of them, but I’m sure I could since much was left unfinished.

    BPM: Is there one subject you would never write about as an author? I would not write about a pathological subject having to do with blacks or about passing, simply because I’ve read too many books in the canon about that kind of thing.

    BPM: Have you ever received a rejection from an agent or a publisher? Yes, about 3 on this novel from agents before I gave up on querying about a year and a half ago. I didn’t get many with “Plenty Good Room,” and the “The Other Sister” was going to originally be published by the same publisher under a different imprint. However, it was taking so long to get to my manuscript that I went with another offer which ended up not working out.

    BPM: Do you ever have days when writing is a struggle? Have you ever had to deal with rejection? It’s a struggle of lot of the time. I just forge through.

    BPM: Have you written any other books that are not published? Yes, I’ve written some that I took off the market as well.

    BPM: What projects are you working on at the present? Right now I’m working on getting through my dissertation. I’ve been writing throughout this year. Since January, “Telling Stories” had been getting copyedited. Erin was doing it between paying jobs, and then I did a last couple edits on it this summer, but nothing major. I am finishing chapter three of my dissertation and I have one more to finish. I am expanding a research paper I’ve already written, so I’m hopeful I may still finish by the first of the year. I teach five sections this semester and six next semester, and I grade a lot because I offer a workshop setting where students are always submitting exercises, and that takes time too. I have about 100 students this semester. Also, now I commute a couple hours a day since I live in Dallas County.

    BPM: How do you stay connected with others in publishing and your readers? On social media of course, although I had deactivated my Facebook for quite a long time. I wanted to get back in touch with the real world, and I did. Even though it’s reactivated, I’m not sure I’ll be involved as I was before.

    BPM: What legacy do you hope to leave future generations of readers and new writers with your writing? That it’s not too late, nor are you confined to “traditional” publishers. Just write the best book you can, and have a “day job.”

    BPM: What is your preferred method to have readers get in touch with or follow you? They can follow at @write12b on Twitter and I also have a Facebook Author and Personal page. I haven’t been all that active this year because of all of my obligations, but I will be picking up steam in the next few weeks.

    BPM: How can readers discover more about you and your work? Twitter: https://twitter.com/write12b Website: https://cheriparisedwards.wixsite.com/mysite-2 Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cheriparisedwards Author FB page: https://www.facebook.com/purelyparispublishing

      Telling Stories by Cheri Paris Edwards Telling Stories by Cheri Paris Edwards Sometimes life throws you a curveball... Navigating middle-age is a challenge for 45-year old Genelle "Gigi" Golden.

[evils--reign]

​❝ i missed the sound of your voice. ❞

🍎     *     the five senses     –     accepting     –     @stuartwcmbly     !!

             it’s one thing to know you’re a witch, it’s another thing entirely to embrace it. raised on magic, regina had always known that one day, she would have to take on the responsibilities of her coven. but she hadn’t been quite so prepared as to spend weeks in new orleans learning the traditions and expectations that came with the name mills     –     she certainly hadn’t prepared to spend most of her summer away from the friends she had made in beacon hills. coming back was like coming home, but it felt     …     different.     or rather, she felt different.     stronger, wiser     –     certainly more aware. the moment she stepped foot across the line between beacon hills and the rest of the world, regina could feel the difference. an aura brighter than it ever was before. it was almost blinding, certainly sickening. she had spent the first day back, in bed     –     curled in on herself with her eyes tightly closed and her hands over her ears. the magic in this town was palpable, and it took all of her concentration to bare it. but that first night, rather than seek out stu and the pack, regina had stood barefoot in the forest just     …     breathing. 

          it was    –    incredible, amazing, addictive and consuming     …     if she wasn’t careful, she could lose herself in the magic that surrounded this town, the magic that filled her lungs and ran through her veins. if she wasn’t careful, she could be dragged in to darkness like her mother before her. it’s a constant concern, a thought that lingers in the back of her mind at all hours of the day, even now by her locker, lower lip caught between her teeth as she shrugs off questions about her summer. it was fine, nothing special     –     agitation starts to curl her fingers in to the door of her locker, but it fades quickly at his approach. turn of head follows, curls brushing the nape of her neck as she catches his eye, and she rolls her eyes. 

                   ‘     is that all you missed, stilinski     ?     ‘     quirk of brow follows the gentle click of her locker as her hand brushes it closed. though the tone of her voice implies an ire most of beacon hills is well acquainted with, there’s a slight curve to her lips as she strides towards him, stiletto’s that have no business in the halls of beacon hills high a rhythmic beat on linoleum floor . admittedly, she had missed his voice too. maybe, even, just missed him entirely. for a brief moment, she forgets all about her summer and her newfound connection with her own magic and the magic of their town. something tells her he wouldn’t let her fall.     ‘     you’re lucky i like you     ‘