#i have been isolated in this ship's beacon for far too long

[poorlemons]

tumblr is like my personal diary but solely for my stray thoughts about trials of apollo and its NOT my fault if my unhinged rambling of a madman who has been locked in his lighthouse for 40 years gets on your dash 

[p-artsypants]

Would You Still Love Me if I was a Worm?

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Was the declaration he made. Robin kind of figured that would have consequences, but not like this. Now they were stranded on an alien planet, isolated from each other. Robin thought this new slug-like alien was his end, until it spoke with a familiar inflection. “…not…friend…not…girl…”   

Ao3

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This fic is based off the episode Stranded. It's also gross.

—-

“Give me space!” 

If you were to ask Robin later, he’d say he’d been a little harsh. But they were in a life threatening situation, so not that harsh. 

The fact that the alien came back and attacked the ship had been bad enough, but then when his teammates did the exact opposite of what he wanted and separated, Robin felt betrayed and frustrated. 

Now as he hung upside down, dazed and nauseous from his crash, Robin had to wonder where exactly the day went to crap. 

A very cynical part of his brain would say it was when Cyborg made that stupid joke. 

“…unless you want to stay here goofing around with your girlfriend.” 

Cyborg and Beast Boy commonly teased him about his affections toward Starfire, and he could roll with it. But he could not handle the teasing in front of Starfire. 

Feelings. The one thing he just couldn’t tackle. 

Granted, he didn’t have superpowers influenced by emotion like Raven. And Batman taught him how to harness his anger into strength and not let him go too far. 

But a crush? Anything near romantic love? 

Forget it. 

His reaction to their dumb joke had been just as immature as the joke itself. He fell for it hook, line, and sinker. “She’s not my girlfriend!” He declared. 

“I am not a girl?” Starfire had squeaked behind him. “I am not your friend?” 

And he hadn’t clarified anything. Hadn’t had the brains to retort, to reassure, to do anything but stammer and blush. 

“If I am not your ‘girlfriend’ then what am I?” 

Then the space station they were trying to save started falling apart and the alien that caused all of it returned, and they had to flee. 

He glanced at the environment monitor. Luckily, despite the outward appearance of the planet, it looked like it was hospitable. Breathable air and slightly cooler temperature. 

He kicked the window out. “Titans! Come in Titans! Is everyone okay?”

Nothing but static. 

He dropped to the ground. 

The air was musty and damp as he landed. He had landed on a fallen tree, and walked out to the end to get a better view of the landscape. 

“Cyborg?” His voice echoed. “Beast Boy?” There was no life for miles. “Raven?” He was alone.

“STARFIRE!” 

Utterly alone. 

But they had to be here, right? Hopefully. He had crashed because the alien had landed on his pod and he had lost control. The rest of them separated and flew away. Did they join back up in space without him? 

He opened his communicator, looking for their positions. There was nothing yet. 

He used his grapple to get back up into his ship and activate the beacon. Maybe his friends would be able to find his pod eventually, but for now, he would look for shelter. 

Nothing more to do than go off and see the lay of the land. 

It wasn’t long after he cleared a ridge that he saw another pod from the T-ship. 

Starfire’s. 

“Starfire!” He shouted, running toward the ship. It was still, and still smoking from the back. It didn’t look like Starfire had opened it. The window was cracked and a long crater dug through the rock where she had crashed. With the state of the ship, she could very well be injured…or worse. 

He dug a birdarang into the crease of the window and popped the pod open. 

“Starfire! Are you okay?” 

There was a vicious snarl before a horrible, ugly, black and green slug-like monster emerged and attacked. 

It had a bit of purple fabric in its mouth. 

Robin kicked it away, his foot colliding with its head. “What did you do to Starfire!?” He snarled. 

The creature let out low grunts like a pig and snorted as it recovered. 

Robin attacked again, tackling it and sending them tumbling down the ravine. 

Robin had the wind knocked out of him and only had a second to recover before the six legged beast was on him again, its pincher-like jaw snapping at him. He kicked it away again, sending the thing rolling down a hill and colliding with a hard rock.

Robin didn’t relent. He ran, slid down the hill and came into a flying kick to its chest.

The creature’s soft underbelly absorbed the hit, coating his foot in a thick green ooze. 

He punched once, then again, both limbs getting coated as well. 

He was stuck, and the creature snapped at him. 

Robin contorted and kicked it in the face, getting just enough leverage to break free and get away. But not too far away, since the goop was like glue and kept him firmly stuck to the ground. 

So this was it, huh? He had a feeling he’d die on the battlefield, but he was hoping it would be on Earth, where his friends and family could find his body and give him a proper burial. 

The creature approached him, huffing and grunting. Its pinchers clacked thoughtfully, as it grew closer. 

Robin clenched his eyes shut, preparing for the worst. 

Instead, the creature let out a long huff, almost like a sigh, and started to lick the goop off his hands and feet, freeing him. 

“Uh…” Robin said aloud, as he was able to get to his feet. 

The creature backed away slowly, then, with a very guttural and nearly incomprehensible voice said, “…end…me…” 

Robin stared in surprise. “You…you can speak? You can understand me?” 

The creature nodded its head slowly, “…end me…” 

“I don’t want to do that,” Robin declared, “you spared me when you had the chance to kill me.” 

The worm skittered around him, crawling on all six legs. Its acid green eyes squinted at him. 

“I’m looking for my friend,” Robin tried again. He gestured back up the ravine they had fallen down. “That pod you were in, that belonged to Starfire. She’s a pretty Tamaranean with red hair, wearing purple.” He swallowed thickly. “I saw that fabric on you. Please tell me you didn’t eat her.” 

The alien shifted its jaw, but said nothing. 

“Please, I need to find her. She’s important to me.” 

The creature slowly backed away, and then turned to leave. 

“Hey! Wait!” Robin called, running after. “You didn’t say if you saw her or not!” 

“...leave me…alone…” 

“I will, I just need to know what you know, please!” 

The creature stopped mid step. “...Troq…” 

Robin’s nostrils flared. “Hey! She is not a troq! You don’t know anything about her!” 

The creature huffed. “...I…am Troq…” 

“Oh.” Robin halted. “You mean, that’s your name? Or that’s what you are?” He was under the impression that ‘Troq’ meant ‘nothing’, but it could possibly mean this species of alien…which would also be an insult, he supposed. The alien was pretty hideous and gross. “My name is Robin, and I’m a human from Earth.” 

“Rob…in…” 

“Yeah! Look, maybe we can be friends? If you help me, I’ll help you.”

“...end…me…” The alien pleaded again. 

Robin shook his head. “I can’t do that. Are you in pain?”

“...so much…pain…” 

“I’m sorry. Did…did I cause that?” He thought back to the ruthless attacks he’d unleashed when he first saw the creature. 

“...yes…” 

Now he felt bad. He hadn’t known this was a sentient being. 

“I’m sorry. I…I thought you hurt Starfire. If we find all my friends, we can help you. My friend Raven can heal you.”

“...can not…” 

“We don’t know if we don’t try.” He got in front of the creature, making it halt its retreat. “But first, I need to know what you know about Starfire. Please.” 

The creature shifted its jaw again. “...I…am…”

“You are what?” He pressed, when the creature seemed to trail off. 

“...give…you…space…” The worm said then, and attempted to move past Robin. 

But Robin got in its face, looking it dead in the eye. “What did you say?” 

“...give…Robin…space…” It whimpered, shuffling away from him. 

Then it clicked. This thing was in Starfire’s pod. 

He gaped. “Star? Is that you?” 

She whimpered again, backing away from him. 

“Hey, hey,” he reached his hands out in a soothing way. “I’m your friend, Starfire. What happened to you? Why do you look like this?” 

Starfire looked around, looking for a way out, and presumably found it as she darted away. 

“Starfire!” He chased after. 

She was fast, but not very coordinated with six legs as she skittered, tripped, and slid. She let out a long whine. 

Robin caught up to her quickly. “What’s going on? Talk to me, Star.” 

“...leave me…”

“I’m definitely not! I’ve been looking for you!” 

“...ugly…”

“You’re certainly…a little different looking.” He offered.

She snorted.

“Okay, so you’re a lot different looking. But we’ve been through this before, when you went through Transformation. I’m your friend. I don’t care what you look like.”

“...not…friend…not…girl…” 

Robin’s jaw dropped. “Star! You’ve transformed into a worm and you’re still caught up on that?! Seriously?!” 

She whined again, and covered her head with her front legs. 

He sighed, wiping a hand down his face. There was no getting out of this conversation, huh? “Look, uh…’girlfriend’ means something different on Earth. It’s like…a special relationship. Boyfriends and girlfriends go on dates and stuff. You’re my friend, but you’re not my girlfriend. Does that make sense?” 

Starfire whined again, and growled, “...I am…not special…” 

Robin’s shoulders sank as he felt frustrated and a little forlorn. Starfire was hurting, and somehow transformed, but it was like trying to reason with a wall. 

Maybe he needed to change communication tactics. 

He knelt down in front of her, and rested a hand on her head. Even through the gloves she felt slimy. “Hey…Star, you are special to me. I think…whatever this is, whatever turned you into this, is clouding your mind with doubt and self-loathing. Once we get you fixed, you’ll see. Everything is fine, okay?”

Starfire didn’t answer right away, but looked up at him. Her pinchers fluttered and she let out a snort. Then she said, “...always trust…Robin…” 

He offered her a smile. “Hey, I’ll take it.” He checked his communicator again, seeing her signal faintly. “Do you have your communicator?”

She quivered and made a horrible gagging sound before barfing up her communicator. 

Robin suppressed every disgusted reaction he had, and just said, “ah, I’ll hold onto that for you.” As he tucked it into his belt, he said, “let’s go see if we can find the others. Raven might be able to figure out what’s wrong with you.” 

Starfire snorted, whatever emotion she felt clouded by her hideous form. Then she scurried on ahead, at a nice clip. 

“Hey wait!” Robin ran after to catch up. 

She turned to him. “...find friends…or wait…?”

“We’ll find them, but let’s travel together.”

“...must we…?” 

“Uh, yeah?” He asked, a little offended. “They won’t recognize you. I didn’t. You don’t want to travel with me?” 

“...give…Robin space…” She said again, trudging on. 

Robin quickly caught up with her, but didn’t stop her. 

“I’m sorry if that hurt you. I was panicking and needed to think about escaping the space station. I don’t need space anymore. I need my friend.” 

“...not friend…” 

“Yes, you are!” Robin shouted, honestly a little harsher than was necessary. “In fact, I’d say you’re my best friend!”

“Do not…believe you…” 

“Ouch. Why would I lie about that?” 

“...try to…save my feelings…too late…” 

Robin had to remember that whatever form this was was extremely pessimistic. 

Heck, he’d probably be pretty depressed if he was a worm. 

“Well, I’m not lying. I’ll find a way to prove it to you.” 

“...does not…matter…” 

He rubbed a hand down his face. Maybe walking with Raven would have been sunnier. 

He gave her some time in silence, as it was hard enough to find something to talk about. This form didn’t allow her to freely communicate either. 

“I hope we find the others…and soon,” he muttered. 

“...silence…” Starfire said, quietly. “...ground…unstable…” And she carefully started stepping with purpose over the slightly glowing surface. 

Robin mimicked her movements, his brain still wrapped up in Starfire’s predicament. There was plenty he didn’t understand about alien biology, but he couldn’t imagine that Tamaraneans spontaneously transformed into worms. 

Did they?

“Look, Starfire—” 

Ah right, the ground was unstable. 

Robin screamed as a burst of flames and gas exploded under his feet and he was sent soaring across the landscape…right towards a crevasse filled with hot pink lava. 

He was only saved from certain death by a slimy purple appendage wrapping around his waist and yanking him to safety. Once on solid ground, he caught his breath and realized the appendage was Starfire’s tongue. 

He decided not to comment on how gross that was, and instead said, “thanks, I thought I was done for!” 

Starfire grunted, and started waddling away from him. 

He only sped up to keep pace with her. “So…are you still able to fly?” 

“No,” she spat. 

“And no starbolts?”

“No.”

“Okay. That’s fine! I can protect you!” 

“I…almost killed you…” She hissed. 

He came up short, and then chuckled. “True. You don’t need me to protect you. I guess…you never really did, huh? You’re stronger than me, and you can fly. You’ve caught me more times than I can count.”

“...you are…valuable ally…” 

Robin felt his heart shrivel. ‘A valuable ally’ was how he felt about Tram, Aqualad’s aquatic partner. 

She kicked him out of the friendzone and into the Tram-zone. Harsh! 

The barren wasteland they traveled didn’t get any less treacherous, and there was still no sign of the other Titans. Robin feared the worst. Were they trapped here forever? Would Starfire remain like this? 

A plume of orange smoke erupted from the ground, obscuring Starfire from his sight. 

“Star?” He called out, moving to where he had last seen her, but finding a drop. He followed the edge, keeping his eyes on the plume. When it finally cleared, he saw Starfire standing maybe 50 feet away, on the other side of a ridge. The bottom was dark and deep. 

“Starfire!” He shouted to her. 

She turned and stared at him, nervously shuffling her many feet. He had a horrible feeling she was going to bolt. She would run and he’d lose her, and maybe never see her again. 

“I’m coming over!” He withdrew his grapple line, and shot it into the rocks behind her. Then he simply glided over to her. “We shouldn’t get separated.”

Before she could respond, the ground shook beneath their feet, before giving out. 

As Robin fell, he twisted and turned, looking for a way to safety. Nothing but sheer cliffside and his spent grapple line disappearing rapidly above him. 

It seemed like Starfire would be his savor again as her tongue wrapped around his waist and he was pulled against her with a slimy splat. 

She scurried up the rock face like a lizard, keeping him firmly tucked to her sticky underbelly with her front legs. Then she darted into a cave, where the entrance caved in immediately after them. Then they were alone in the dark.

“...am sorry…” She pried him free and dropped him, dripping with goop, onto the cave floor. 

Robin suppressed a gag and a shutter. “Uh…don’t be. You saved my life.” He attempted to shake the goop free. 

“I have…stained your suit…”

“I have others. It's fine, Star.” 

She grunted, not believing him. 

Since all his gadgets stuck to his gloves, he simply peeled them off and dropped them on the ground, then he was able to pull his communicator out for faint light. 

The cavern wasn’t very big, but thankfully contained some old, dried tree roots that would burn fine. Besides that, there didn’t seem to be any other way out. 

“Looks like we’re stuck here.” 

Starfire whined again. 

“Well, for now,” he added, trying to be optimistic for both of them. “The ship should pick up our communicators when Cyborg gets it up and running.” 

“...leave me here…” 

“Not happening,” he said without hesitation. He got to work collecting firewood, made a pile, and lit it using one of his emergency flares. While he did all of this, Starfire just sat a few feet away with her back to him. 

“Do…you want to come closer?”

“No.” 

He sighed. This was not going well. It was going quite bad, actually. It was one thing to be stranded on an alien planet, but if Starfire had been in her normal form and able to communicate like usual, he wouldn’t have worried at all. They were unstoppable together! 

But this was…different. This whole dynamic was wrong. He hated it. And he hated that he didn’t know how to fix it. 

Just then, a new thought occurred to him. One that probably should have crossed his mind earlier, but his thoughts were always a little jumbled when it came to Starfire. 

“Star…do you know what transformed you into this?” 

Her answer made dread coil in his stomach. “...yes…”

He clenched his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Right. Of course she did. And if he had bothered to ask instead of just assume, maybe this would have been solved a few hours ago and they could have had a pleasant search instead of this awkward…whatever it was. 

“So, what happened? How can I help?”

She glanced at him with her acid green eyes. “...not friend…not girl…”

He groaned. “Starfire! We are sooo far past that!” He didn’t want to yell at her, but he was certainly ready to. 

“...not understand…”

“Okay, where did I lose you? What do you not understand?”

“...no…Robin…not understand…” 

Well now he felt awful. He sighed again. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand and it makes me really frustrated. I want to help you Star. I don’t like seeing you like this. So just…” he sat on a rock by the fire, and took a long deep breath. “Just tell me what’s going on.” 

Starfire whimpered. 

“I’m sorry I was short with you. I will just listen, and I won’t judge.” He folded his arms over his knees and just waited. 

Eventually, Starfire crept a little closer. “…Tam…rean…” 

“Tamaraneans?” 

“…yes…powers by…feeling. Fly joy…strength confi…dence…” 

He nodded in understanding. He’d seen Peter Pan as a kid. Happy thoughts equal flight was not a foreign concept. 

“...feelings…emotion…is everything.”

“And a strong enough emotion can change you?”

“...Tam…reans…love once. Mate for…life. When love…rejects…” she whimpered, bowing her head. “...heartbreak…chaos…” 

“Wait,” Robin held his hands out. “Wait wait wait…let me make sure I understand this. You’re saying that Tamaraneans…love once? Like, they only fall in love one time in their whole life?”

“...yes…”

“And if the person they fall in love with rejects them, the heartbreak they feel causes chaos?” 

She nodded with a grunt. 

“But how did—?” It took a second but he got it. “ME?!” 

She shuffled backwards, awkwardly. “…Robin said…not friend…not girl…broke heart…”

“So you literally became something that’s not a friend or a girl.” He groaned. “Starfire…you’re in love with me?” 

“...sorry…” Acid tears rolled down her hideous face and sizzled on the ground. 

He fought for words for a long time, because on one hand, he was thrilled. Elated even. She loved him! It wasn’t that surprising, given how close they were and the amount of teasing that came from Beast Boy and Cyborg (it had to be prompted by something) but to hear it! She loved him, before anyone else! He, who was a little short, ill tempered, and job obsessed. 

On the other hand, it meant that this was all his fault. His inability to talk about his feelings, his hesitation to clarify the misunderstanding, and his wildly immature reaction to Cyborg’s joke. He could have laughed it off. He should have just ignored it, but because he made the bold and angry declaration, ‘she’s not my girlfriend!’ of course Starfire would feel rejection. 

“Starfire…” his shoulders sagged. “I didn’t know.”

“...did not want to tell…happy being on Earth…happy just being…Titan…” 

“You were never going to tell me?”

She shook her head. “...heartbreak…dangerous.” 

He threw his head back with a groan. He felt like the absolute scum of the earth. “What do we do to fix this?”

“...cannot…”

“So…you’re stuck like this? There’s nothing I can do?”

“...if I…kill you…” she whimpered. “...but cannot…will not…”

His eyes widened. “That���s why you attacked me at the pod. But then you couldn’t go through with it.”

She laid on the ground and covered her face with her front legs. “...still love…even now…” 

Tears welled up in his eyes. He hated to admit that this was killing him, but it was. He shook his head, resigned. “I’m such an idiot, Starfire. Even if I told you right now that I love you too, you wouldn’t believe it.” 

She whined loudly, the sound akin to a sob. 

“I’m so sorry. The truth is that I…really care about you. Like...you’re the first thing I think of in the morning, and the last thing before I fall asleep.”

Starfire lifted her head to look at him. 

“Our relationship is…probably the most important one I have in my life. Yes, I love our friends and I consider them my family, but you…you’re extremely special.” 

She crawled closer, her eyes still dripping acid. 

“I’m so out of my depth right now,” he confessed. “I’m not good at talking about my feelings and stuff. Batman wasn’t good at it. So we never practiced.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m making this worse, aren’t I?”

She crawled ever closer, making little huffing sounds. “...please…keep going…” 

He patted his thigh, inviting her closer. 

She rested her head on his leg. 

Even though she was gross and slimy and her hide had a weird texture, Robin rested his hand on her head and started petting her. He simply refused to be repulsed. Just like he refused to be afraid when they first met. 

“I think I always knew you were special to me,” he stated. “When you kissed me when you arrived on Earth, I think it left a pretty big impression on me. After that, I found myself seeking you out. I enjoyed spending time with you. I liked showing you all that Earth had to offer. I liked listening to your stories of Tamaran. I was…sensitive to you. I knew when Blackfire came to visit that things weren’t okay. I kept an eye on you, because I didn’t want to lose you. I almost did…” he swallowed. “That fight was amazing to watch. You were so focused, so resolved to take her out, it just took one bolt. It was…awesome. Everytime I watch you fight I’m amazed. You’re the strongest girl ever, and you’re really graceful when you fly.” 

She released a low moan, and he realized talking about her ability to fly was probably a sore spot at the moment. 

“Star…I’m not a perfect person. I think I’m far from it. I’ve done a lot to hurt you and the others. I don’t deserve someone as wonderful as you loving me…” he gnawed on his bottom lip. “There was this moment that has always stuck with me. It was during that battle while I was Slade’s apprentice. You and I were squared off. I had that laser, and you had a bolt aimed at me. I couldn’t shoot you. I just couldn’t. I was silently begging that you would shoot first so I wouldn’t have a choice.”

His voice warbled. “But then you dropped your hand. You said, ‘I cannot live in a world where we have to fight. So if you are truly evil, do what you must.’” He shook his head, new tears coming to his eyes just remembering it. “You were willing to die. You would have rather died than hurt me. I shared that sentiment, but it wasn’t until I infected myself with those nanobots that I was able to act on it. But that’s when I—-” 

“Rob…in…?” 

His lips twitched as he held back a sob. This vulnerability was uncomfortable, but Starfire needed it. So he’d push on. 

“That’s when I knew. I knew I wanted to be with you, somehow, forever. It may have been a crush, or maybe the beginning of love. I don’t know. I hadn’t felt like that before. Nothing to compare it to.” 

He wiped just under his eyes with his free hand. “I think Cyborg figured it out first. He kept teasing me about being jealous when Aqualad or Speedy talked to you, or when you got betrothed to that gurgle-what’s his face. And he was right! I was jealous!” 

“…didn’t need to be…” 

“I know that now!” He couldn’t help but laugh. “I wish I had known.” 

In hindsight, it was actually pretty obvious she had feelings for him. She always sought him out first. She was quick to fret over him in a fight.

How many movie nights had she ‘accidently’ fallen asleep on his shoulder? She was always the one that begged him to come out of his office to eat or spend time with them. 

She made sure he was safe, healthy, and happy. Is that not what love boils down to?

And he constantly took advantage of that. Instead of the gratitude she deserved, he gave her grief. Even now, being the person that he was caused her great pain. 

“I’m so sorry…” He cried. “I did this…”

“...Robin is good…at being mean…to Robin…” 

“And you were always so good at stopping me from doing that. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. It might actually destroy me…” He saw it all unraveling, just like she had relayed from the future she had seen. His friendships falling apart, and he becoming a carbon copy of Batman; brooding, obsessed, and alone. 

“We’ll just have to adapt,” he said stubbornly. “So, you’re a worm now. You still kick butt!”

“...Robin…” 

“The others will just have to get used to it. And to the rest of Jump, you’ll be my lizard-alien girlfriend. They already think we’re together, so it’s not that big of a stretch.” 

“...Robin…” she grunted. “...this body…hurts. It is…unnatural…” 

He used his hands to wipe away her tears, but when he found them to burn his flesh, he used his cape instead. 

“...when the others…find us…please…end me…” 

“I…I don’t know if I can do that,” he breathed. “I’m sorry. I want to make all your pain go away. I want to fix all of this, but…I can’t kill you, Starfire.” 

More burning tears fell. 

“I know I’m being selfish. All I ever do is hurt you.” 

“...untrue…”

“Well, it certainly feels like it. And right now, I want to see if there’s something else that can be done. Maybe Raven can help. I want to try everything we can first.” 

“...alright…always trust…Robin…”

He clenched his eyes shut, guilt swirling through his veins. “Can I hold you until they find us?” 

“...am…disgusting…”

“I don’t care, Star! I don’t care!” He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her head to his shoulder. 

She was cold. There was no warmth to this hug. She secreted a foul smelling ooze that coated his arms the longer he touched her. Her acid tears dripped on his shoulder and burned through his cape and tunic, right down to his skin. 

He winced in pain. 

“…repulsive…” 

“Do you not want me to hold you?” 

She didn’t say anything, unwilling to lie. She was in pain, emotional turmoil, completely unable to love herself. Being held by the man she loved was the smallest favor she could ask for. 

“I wish I had told you months ago,” he lamented. “Romance, dating, that all scares me. I think Batman did it to me on purpose. He always said that love is a weakness, and that a girlfriend would be used against me. I was scared.” 

Starfire made a little trilling noise. 

“But it’s so stupid, because our bad guys tried to target you to get to me anyway. Not that they were very successful since you kick butt. But it was like I had the weakness of loving someone without the benefits of getting to enjoy…you know, romance. There are so many places I wanted to take you, just you, but I didn’t know how to ask without it sounding like a date. We could have held hands, or k-k-kissed or whatever the Tamaranean equivalent is!” He sighed. “Bruce made it seem like falling in love is the scary part. He’s totally wrong. This is the scary part. I could have spent the rest of my life learning about you and falling in love with your quirks. But losing you? Imagining what comes after? No, this is the scary part.” 

“…Bruce…?” She asked. 

He was surprised that’s what she chose to comment on. “That’s Batman’s name. Bruce Wayne.” 

“Oh…” 

“And my name is Richard Grayson, Dick for short.” 

“…I know.” 

“…you did? When did—how did—?” 

“…first met…lived with you…before tower…saw mail…your secret…I keep.” 

“Thank you. It means a lot.” 

“…what is John?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“…Rich…ard John. What is…?” 

“Oh. John is my middle name. I guess Tamaraneans don’t have those. John was my father’s name. My mom's name was Mary.” 

“Pretty name…” She sighed. “...gone?”

“Yeah, they’re both gone.” Then he realized that her curiosity never left. Even in this painful slug-worm form, she still wanted to learn.

Or maybe it was just because it was him. Any opportunity she had to catch a glimmer of what hid behind his mask, she took. 

So he took the mask off, dropping it to the floor. Whatever came after today, he didn’t really care. All he wanted was to give Starfire anything and everything she wanted. 

He told her everything. His life story, his tragedies, his cherished joys, his darkest secrets. At first, it was uncomfortable. It was like confessing a crime, but the longer he spoke, the easier it became. The truth poured out of him like a fountain. 

His fears on the field with Batman, his insecurities, his likes, dislikes, anything he could think of. 

“...do not need…to share all this…” 

His gentle petting of her gross hide had progressed into a massage, as he hoped it would ease some of her pain. “Sure, I don’t need to, but I want to. Because I trust you. I’ve always trusted you to catch me on the field, or perform a maneuver when I call it…if I can trust you in a situation where lives are at stake, there’s little room for error and very little time to think…why shouldn’t I trust you with everything else? You’ve had my heart for a long time, Star, and you’ve taken good care of it. Better care than I have. I know I am completely safe with you.” 

He swallowed and exhaled as the last little bit of truth came out. “When I’m with you, I’m home.” 

Her reaction was not what he was expecting, or wanted. She cried out in pain and writhed away from him. 

“Star! Star, what’s wrong?” 

She didn’t answer as she snorted and grunted and contorted on the ground. 

He hovered nearby, his hands reaching for her, but not quite touching, as he didn’t know what to do. He grimaced as she cried out again. 

“I’m so sorry,” he cried. “I don’t know what to do!” 

Slowly, she stopped wriggling, and laid still on the ground. 

“Starfire?” He breathed. 

There was no movement. All the acid green coloring to her eyes and mouth faded, until she was all a dull dark green. 

Robin swore as he slumped back against the rock. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be. Not now, when all the pieces fell into place. When he finally felt peace, when he finally figured out what he needed and what he so desperately wanted…it was gone. She was gone. 

He buried his face in his hands as the tears came. Bitter tears of searing loss that were painfully familiar. Tears of losing someone you loved and not being prepared for it. A lesson he didn’t learn from. 

He didn’t cherish her enough. Didn’t love her when he had the chance. 

Stupid and foolish and cruel and—

There was a crackling sound. 

It came from her body. Something was shifting under the skin. 

“Oh, this just keeps getting worse, huh?” He lamented. 

A fist punched itself free of the confines of the worm, a humanoid hand with sun kissed skin. 

“…Starfire?” Robin squeaked. 

Another hand ripped the slimy black skin away, and a head with red hair emerged. She had her back to him, but he knew those shoulders. 

Starfire shook her arm, flinging some strands of green goo away from her. “I wonder if this is how it feels to be a freshly molted Tomethean fly.” 

“Star…?” he asked again, crawling towards her. 

Starfire whipped her head around to stare at him. “...Robin…” She said, just as softly. 

He knelt at her side and withdrew a birdarang to cut away the rest of the worm-carcass. She was completely naked, but he tried not to dwell on it. 

“I thought…” she whispered. “…I did not…” Her lips trembled as she tried to collect her thoughts. 

“It's alright now, Star,” he wiped some slime off her cheek. “You’re okay.” 

“Robin…” she sobbed. “I did not know it could be reversed!” 

He held her face tenderly. “I’m glad it was,” he smiled at her softly. 

She self-consciously pushed her goopy hair back and covered her chest with an arm. “Surely, I am still disgusting and you do not need to touch me until I have had a proper bath.” 

“Actually,” he grinned. “I think you might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Really?” She stared at him, those beautiful green eyes sparkling like emeralds. 

“Yeah,” he pulled her forward so they could touch their foreheads together. “You’re out of this world.” 

She giggled, and rested her hands on his shoulders. “On this planet, we are both aliens.” 

“Hey, I guess you’re right.” As he wiped more goop off her face, he realized it didn’t smell foul like the slime earlier had. And it dried rather quickly, like Aloe Vera.

“All those things you said, it was all true?” 

“I meant every word, Star. I love you. I want to be with you. I want a future with you.” He cringed slightly. “As long as you want that. I’d understand if you had mixed feelings or needed time after all of this.” 

“Robin, if you can say you love me after seeing me in this most foul state, then I shall certainly take you up on that offer.” 

He pulled her into a tight hug, a hold so tight it would have hurt any other woman, but Starfire just gleefully returned the hug. He’d savor the bruises for later. 

“Come on,” he scooped her up into his arms and lifted her out of the remains of her cocoon. Then he walked them back over to the rock and sat with her in his lap, keeping her close. He unhooked his cape and draped it over her. “I know it’s not much, but at least you’re partially covered.”

“A state of undress does not bother me,” she said casually. “In fact, it is a sign of affection on Tamaran to have skin to skin contact.” 

“O-Oh?” He squeaked. 

“Yes. Your lip contact is just used for language assimilation, and then of course, copulation is used solely for reproduction. Of course, I am not adverse to these practices if it is something you wish to partake in. I am sure that with you, I would find pleasure in most things.” 

Robin felt his face color several shades. “Well…the uh…copulation thing…let’s not worry about that for a while.” He rested his bare arm on her stomach, his hand slightly massaging her side. “How else do Tamaraneans show physical affection?”

She became shy, a cute blush dusting her cheeks. “We…touch our tongues together. Though humans have much smaller tongues than we do, I imagine it will be difficult.” 

“We have a similar practice, actually,” he gently bonked his forehead against her temple. “You may have heard of it as French kissing, or making out.” 

“Oh! Yes! I have heard that on the television! Also, Beast Boy once told me a joke about it that I did not understand.” 

“What was the joke?” 

“He asked if I had ever heard of Australian kissing. I said I hadn’t, and he said it was like French kissing, but down under.” 

Robin scoffed. “That’s so crude. He should have known better than to say that to you.” 

“But I still do not understand it.” 

He sighed. Maybe the real joke Beast Boy told was imagining this exact scenario. “Australia is commonly called ‘Down Under’. The joke is that an Australian kiss is a tongue kiss…down below, instead of on the mouth.” 

Her eyes went comically wide. “Are you suggesting that your people have tongue to gential contact?” 

“...yes?”

“I cannot imagine that would be sanitary.” 

He chuckled. “We do a lot of gross things.” 

“Perhaps we shall try it sometime, and I will change my mind.” 

He sputtered as he blushed harder. “Again, we’ll worry about that later.” 

Starfire had her arms around his neck. She reached a hand up to hold his face. “Another form of affection we have is prolonged eye contact. I will admit I tried to do this often with you, but your mask…” 

“I’ll try to have it off when we’re alone.” He offered. 

“Your eyes are so very beautiful. I am grateful you allowed me to see them.” 

“Thank you.” I could say the same about your breasts, he thought. “Your eyes are pretty too.” 

Starfire just sighed happily and batted those big green eyes at him. 

He gazed into them lovingly for a while, and then begrudgingly broke contact. “Hold on. Now that you’re okay, I should probably check to see if the others have gotten any signal yet.” 

Starfire rested her head on his shoulder, embarrassed. “I had forgotten.” 

“You forgot?”

“I was caught up in the peril of being a worm, and then the euphoria of being loved in return.” 

“Well, when you say it like that, I understand completely.” He kissed her temple before he took out his communicator. Thankfully, there was a new blip on the screen, marked as Cyborg. He called to see if they could get through. 

Starfire quickly put his mask on for him. 

“––bin? Tha–you?”

“Cyborg? Can you hear me?”

“Kinda fuzzy. —fire with you?”

“Yes, Starfire is with me.” 

“BB—me. Fixin’ —ip. We’ll meet up—done. Might be—while.”

“Have you heard from Raven?” 

“Not yet.––location on ship. She’s not––far from us.” 

“Okay. We’ll sit tight for now.”

Robin very clearly saw Cyborg and Beast Boy smile smugly on the other side of the screen, before Cyborg sang, “have fun with your girlfriend!” 

Robin just smirked back and said, “thanks! I will!” Then he turned the communicator to Starfire’s face, and kissed her fully on the mouth before ending the call. 

She squeaked as he made contact, before she melted into the kiss. 

He attempted to pull away, but she held him firmly in place, deepening the kiss and carding her fingers through his hair. Oh yeah, Robin thought. I could definitely spend the rest of my life getting used to this.

[sundayswiththeilluminati]

Continued from this post, Part 3 of my discussion of Essek Thelyss in the context of real-world espionage. This time: what happens to espionage assets in the long run? Do they break contact, and why? What might have been in store for Essek?

At the treaty meeting Essek tells Ludinus to his face that he wants no further contact with the Assembly, not even to learn what the Assembly discovers via their own beacon. He’s far from the first asset to try to sever their relationship, and it ends in one of three ways: they don’t manage to break contact, they break contact but voluntarily return, or (rarest of all) they end the relationship permanently. 

Most attempts don’t go beyond option 1, because intelligence agencies are not in the business of respecting their assets’ choices. Handlers are skilled in keeping the upper hand in their asset relationships and will take any further opportunity to gain leverage by compromising the asset. For instance they’ll often pay for information even if the asset hasn’t requested it, because money changing hands makes it far harder for an asset to frame their activities positively to their own side if they attempt to confess (”You expect us to believe they were blackmailing you when you got $10,000 to hand over the secret manual?” etc.) And when push comes to shove most people aren’t willing to accept the severe punishments for espionage. An asset’s threat to confess is more likely a negotiating ploy than a serious option.

Some assets, especially nervous or ego-driven ones, get the carrot: the KGB did a strong line in awarding secret medals to convince them they were doing important, well-regarded work and that the KGB would protect them - not an empty reassurance, as highly-placed moles like Aldrich Ames warranted elaborate ops involving double and triple agents to avert suspicions. And some assets get the stick: the handler tightens the screws using whatever leverage they’ve gained, implies that they’re already “too far in to go back,” or gives some time for those who were blackmailed into spying to think about the consequences of exposure.[1]

Those who get as far as option two, breaking it off and later returning, are usually driven away by fear but back by finances. Fantasy spies have all sorts of motives but in real life the majority are in it for the money. Assets, as you might imagine, make bad choices. About half start selling secrets just to stave off massive debt from overspending and poor financial decisions (the rest feel underpaid.) So even if these assets stop temporarily, the circumstances that drove them to espionage in the first place are still very much present. In these cases all a handler has to do is shrug and say, “You know where to find us.” Infamous FBI mole Robert Hanssen broke off contact with his Russian handlers when the Soviet Union collapsed, fearing he might get outed in the chaos, but linked back up with them just 10 months later when, surprise surprise, he needed some cash.

And then there are the rare handful who stop completely. There’s a bit of survivor(?) bias here because anyone who passes along secrets, breaks off the relationship before being caught, and manages to get away with it is by definition someone we don’t know about. Those who do manage to break contact long-term are usually able to do so because they left the situation that gave them access to interesting secrets and therefore the controlling agency determined they were no longer a useful resource and not worth pursuing. But even if an asset stops working for an agency, they’re far from forgotten - and far from off the hook. Names and evidence of their espionage would be kept on file for potential use as blackmail, leverage in state-to-state negotiations, or expendable material to prove bona fides in ops involving fake defectors or triple agents. A surprising number of spies are caught/outed years after their espionage ended.

Very few assets permanently sever their espionage relationships the hard way: making a genuine confession and accepting punishment. But it’s not unheard-of, especially if the espionage was brief and the asset believes the damage can be repaired. In 1989 Army signals analyst Michael Peri disappeared from his post in West Germany along with a portable computer containing numerous classified documents. Eleven days later he returned to his previous post with the computer and voluntarily confessed to the theft and sort-of defection to East Germany. When interrogated, Peri - who had been a model soldier until that point - said he felt overworked and underappreciated by his superiors, though he couldn’t entirely explain his decisions either to leave or to return (a sexy female Russian agent might also have been involved). He received a 30-year sentence.

Marine Clayton Lonetree, a guard stationed at the US Embassy in Moscow in 1985, was blackmailed over an affair to hand over details on the embassy compound for a year, but his conscience finally got the better of him and he confessed in late 1986. Being a Marine he faced the very real prospect of death by firing squad, but the court martial ended up giving him a 30-year sentence. It was later reduced to 15 after the Marine Corps Commandant wrote a letter to the Navy Secretary on his behalf attributing the young Marine’s actions not to treason or greed but to loneliness, naivety, and poor judgement.[2]

Going back to Essek’s case, he’s already in the minority of espionage assets because he doesn’t want money in return for the secrets he passes along; though the knowledge the Assembly promises him in return fulfills a similar desire, Essek doesn’t need that knowledge to pay off the equivalent of debt or to maintain his lifestyle. He has no pressures at home that force him to continue spying. With the beacons returned, the fall guys in place, and their tracks seemingly covered, he tells Ludinus that all he wants is to be rid of the entire affair. That rules out option one (he sincerely means to cut the Assembly off) and option two (he won’t be driven back by need.) 

Essek is also in an unusual position in that the worst of the damage he caused is repairable - just return the beacons.[3] A secret, once compromised, can’t be un-compromised. If an asset hands over a cipher machine they can’t fix the situation by stealing the cipher machine back; the foreign agency they sold it to has already studied the machine and learned its secrets, meaning it’s now effectively useless. But returning the beacons restores what the Kryn lost. While keeping dunamancy secret gives the Kryn a tactical edge, and I’m sure the Dynasty would prefer to keep the magical soulstones of their elite hidden from their long-time rival, the beacons don’t need to be secret to work. Essek therefore has a much better chance than most to simply repair the damage, cut off his handlers, and try to forget the whole affair ever happened. He might even think that, now that the Assembly has their own beacon, they’ll have no further use for him and will just leave him alone.

But from the Cerberus Assembly's perspective, this fruit still has plenty of juice in it and they risk nothing by continuing to squeeze. Now that they have their own beacon Essek’s knowledge becomes even more valuable. He has access to hundreds of years of dunamantic spellcrafting - and more importantly the rite of consecution, since the Assembly were probably after beacons in the first place to make themselves immortal. If Essek is caught, it’s treason for him, but the Assembly doesn’t suffer; they were doing it for the good of the Empire, learning about dunamancy to help the war effort. So if he refuses to keep spying voluntarily for the Assembly, they’ll just have to find another way to motivate him. 

As part of evaluating Essek before recruitment, Assembly operatives would have noted that he’s, well, highly motivated to save his own skin. Ludinus’ goal therefore becomes to make Essek see further espionage as the only way to stay alive. So instead of confronting Essek then and there, Ludinus shrugs and goes, “Okay. Sure.” Then he activates the Volstruckers, maybe leaks a little info to the Dynasty about a traitor in their midst, and sets up Essek to stew in fear, feeling isolated and attacked from both sides - targeted by the Assembly for his defiance, under suspicion from the Dynasty, unable to ask for help because of his crimes. Ludinus sits back and waits for Essek to re-establish contact on his own. Of course Ludinus didn’t know that the M9 had confronted Essek and gotten him to confess, making a return to spying impossible even if he tried.

While Essek’s motives revolve around ego, frustration, and rebellion, his situation is more like those of people who end up defecting because they’re unable to pursue their careers or live as they want to back home. He has virtually no social/family ties to leave behind, no loyalty to Dynasty authority, and no religious fervor to defend the Luxon, while the Assembly promises him the company of like minds and free rein in his experiments. Assuming no intervention by the M9 I think Essek would have ended up defecting to the Cerberus Assembly. If he did it early enough in the story he might have even joined the Volstruckers to complete the narrative foil transformation.

If the crew had confronted him at the treaty but not offered mercy I think he would have defected purely out of fear, thinking the Assembly were the only people who could protect him from both the Dynasty and the M9. He was already on edge watching the guy he'd set up to take the fall getting walked away in chains and with the Assembly's Wind of Aeons ship right there it would be the ideal time to make the move. Assuming the treaty confrontation went as it did (the crew makes him confess but lets him live) but the M9 hadn’t shown up in Eiselcross, Essek would likely have fled the outpost and gone into hiding in a bid to outrun his crimes (and probably gotten caught two weeks later given how awful he was at being “Dezrain Thane.”)

Essek is far from the first recruited asset to regret what they did even as they kept doing it. Those who can sell out their nation and not feel even a pang of guilt are thankfully thin on the ground. Most start off doing what seems to be a favor for a friend - or accepting a favor from a friend who wants to help with their “financial difficulties” - and end up so deep they can’t see any way forward other than to keep handing over secrets. He’s one more in a long line of those who compromised information out of frustration, especially through the appeal to shared professional interests (that’s how industrial assets tend to be recruited.)

But he’s also in a much better place to make up for it than most assets. Since he primarily compromised property, not secrets, returning said property can (somewhat, mostly) repair the damage done, which goes a long way towards buying leniency from the powers that be. And now I’m realizing that this post actually needs one final part, which is: how do you try someone for espionage, and should you charge them with it in the first place?

[1]  While spy dramas love sexy blackmail, and handlers will happily collect it to leverage against a balky asset, it works far less often in reality as a main reason for espionage. Social penalties for extramarital affairs pale before actual legal penalties like the death sentence for treason. On the other hand, those with foreign relatives are sometimes coerced by threats against those relatives.

[2]  Lonetree’s case for leniency got a boost in 1994 when Aldrich Ames was finally caught and some serious breaches of embassy security that had been attributed to Lonetree were found to be Ames’ work instead. In 1996 Lonetree was released after having served 9 years total.

[3] Although I did just think of a really messed-up Cerberus Assembly plan: consecute a handful of completely loyal Volstruckers, kill them, and send the beacons back so said agents will be reborn in the Dynasty and work to undermine it from within. How fucked up would that be?? Campaign 3 plot hook anyone?

(This accidentally turned into a series on Essek & IRL espionage: Parts 1, 2, 3, 4)

[mermaidxatxheart]

Better Together Chapter 5

Here's the next chapter. I hope you like it. Comments are always welcome. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, send me an ask. My works are not to be posted anywhere.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: violence, panic, swearing probably.

Chapter 4

Chapter Five

Leaves whip across your face, scratching the bruised skin of your cheek.

Dirt shifts under your feet.

Your fingers slip on Poe’s shirt and you struggle to regain your grasp.

Panting echoes in your ear, mirroring your erratic, pounding heartbeat.

Roots seem to stretch out of the ground, determined to trip you.

You can’t see more than a foot in front of you.

You stumble, crashing to your knees.

Poe’s grunt is muted, soft, as he lands next to you. Your entire torso feels like it’s on fire.

You want to stay down, to just give up.

But you can’t.

Not yet.

The river is ahead of you. You can hear it.

You start again, ignoring the burning in your muscles.

The trip back is impossible. Too long. Too far. Your urgency makes you clumsy. Your injuries make you weak.

Blaster fire snaps and crackles over your head and you yelp, ducking out of reflex. Poe shoots over your shoulder and you hear the grunt as one of your pursuers goes down.

You have to outsmart them, lose them before they can follow you to your ship. Everything will have been for nothing if that happens.

It takes more time than you can afford, but finally you can board. You guide Poe to the built in sofa and run to the cockpit, getting ready for take off.

Your hands are shaking.

You can’t breathe.

Your vision is doubling.

It’s blurry.

You smash the buttons, definitely not being careful. The engine rumbles after too long of being dormant. You push the throttle to full blast, not caring if you burned down the entire forest.

Fuck this planet.

You plot a random course, jumping to hyperspace the second you can. You run back to Poe, grabbing the cart of medical supplies. You don’t care about your own wounds, only focused on him.

“They probably,” he starts and you nod, jabbing him with a bacta shot.

“I know. I’m taking precautions.” You mutter, avoiding his face. You can’t look at him. Not now. Not after everything.

“Hey, do you think,” he starts and you clench your jaw together as you wrap his bleeding leg as best you can. “Do you think Leia is sobbing uncontrollably right now because she misses me so much?” He asks, hissing quietly.

“Yes.” You reply, tying it tight.

“It’s worse than I feared.” He continues and you push yourself up, heading back for the cockpit, not waiting to hear what’s worse.

You take your natural seat, the co-pilot’s chair and take the wheel. Your hands are scraped and bloody from falling, among who knows what else. The secret stitches all over your body pull uncomfortably, you’ve probably ripped them open. They were crude to begin with.

You can’t just sit here. You have to look for tracking beacons. You force yourself to stand and head back through the cabin, avoiding Poe, even though you can feel his dark eyes on you.

You don’t blame him for hating you. He’s in this mess because of you.

You search the entire ship, maintaining your isolation until you drop out of hyperspace. There’s no tracker inside. There’s a decent chance that the ship was never found in the first place. But you have to be sure.

You head back to the cabin and guide the ship to an asteroid, landing on the dark side. You don’t notice the bloody hand prints you’ve left everywhere, mind too wild and overwhelmed with panic.

“Y/N.” Poe starts and you ignore him, grabbing the oxygen mask and lowering the ramp. It’s cold outside the ship, cold enough to turn your fingers blue.

Good. Maybe they’ll freeze and fall off, and then you can’t hurt anyone else.

You climb all over the outside of the ship, checking in absolutely every little space that could hide something like that, but there’s nothing.

Still…

Hesitation eats at you.

You take a minute outside, hiding like a fucking coward, before going back in and starting the engines once more.

“Find anything?” Poe asks from behind you. You jump, smacking your hand on the hyper speed lever as you try to turn.

“Damn it.” You curse quietly, holding your throbbing hand to your midsection. “Go lay down. I’ve got this.” You tell him, turning back around, trying to get your heart to calm the hell down.

“Y/N,” he starts, but you can’t take the look in his eyes, the ones filled with regret.

“Go. I didn’t find anything.” You say shortly and he eases himself into the pilot’s chair-his seat.

He looks over the console, reading all the flashing lights as easily as a second language. “But you’re still light speed skipping?” He frowns, turning to look at you.

You don’t try to make him understand. How can you? Your last gut instinct turned out so bad, he can’t possibly trust you again.

“Safety precaution.” You mumble, flipping some more switches.

He studies you for a minute, the silence dragging on and you want to scream at him to stop, to go away. But you don’t. And the silence drags on.

“Alright.” He says finally. “But you’ll need my help.” He finishes and you squeeze your eyes shut before nodding. You start the flight sequence, your broken heart doing little twists in your chest. You don’t know if this is going to work, or if there’s even a need for it. But you’ve committed now, you have to follow through.

The ship lifts and you hover before punching it to hyperspace. Radar is still clear as you course correct around crazy land masses. Spires of solid rock shoot straight into the sky as you maneuver. Poe’s grip is tight on the wheel, he’s nervous. He doesn’t trust you.

And just as well.

But the realization still hurts. Your best friend has lost all faith in you.

You flip the next switch, lining up the next location and Poe initiates, sending you back into the seat with a painful grunt. He glances at you, but you won’t show weakness, not when he was nothing but strong for you. You can hide this.

Water reflects a brilliantly lit sky, two suns reflect off a glittering lake, almost blinding you as you rocket towards the tree line in the distance. Radar is still clear.

Again, another planet where you’re steering for your life, praying to the Maker that you don’t crash.

Another, and then just one more.

Poe is silent through the whole thing. Realizing you were wrong, you were never being followed, you cheeks heat with shame as you plot the course for home.

“Go clean your hands, I’ve got it from here.” He says finally.

Carefully, painfully, you peel your hands off. The skin, sticky with blood and cuts adheres to the wheel, pinching and pulling as you lift them. Fresh blood rushes to the surface and you hurry from the cockpit to the refresher.

You turn on the water and scrub your hands, removing more skin than you’re cleaning, doing just as much harm as good. Your reflection taunts you in the mirror, staring at you, blaming you. Wildly, you fling it open, exposing the cabinet behind with all of Poe’s things; medicine, shaving supplies. The tightness grows in your throat and you drop your gaze, scrubbing harder, as if that could make everything go away.

Your nose burns and your eyes blur and you sniffle. Maker, you’re fucking crying while Poe is in there, flying the entire ship by himself while he’s injured and you’re in here, crying like a little fucking girl because you feel guilty.

The ship drops out of hyperspace and you crash back into the wall, head smacking the corner of the shower stall. Pain flares down your neck as you struggle to regain your balance.

Poe’s voice comes on the speaker. “Sorry about that. Had to drop out early. Making our descent now.” He tells you.

“Do…” you cut off, your voice rough, and so fucking weak. “D-do you need help?” You manage and the silence drags on.

“No.” Comes the short reply.

You want to wail, to cry. To tell him how fucking sorry you are! You’re sorry for the kiss, and for getting him caught— but he won’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses and bumbling.

You slide to the floor, knees pressed tight against your chest as you try to breathe, try to steady yourself. The tight space helps, and acts as a compression unit. But it’s not enough. Not after everything you’ve done.

You can feel when the ship makes landfall and panic rises in your chest, sheer, blinding panic. The engines cut off and you hope Poe walks right off the ship to get looked at. Your ribs ache with the effort of holding everything in, of being silent.

And then a short knock on the door jolts you. “We’re here, Y/N. We’re home. Open the door.” He says, there’s something strange in his voice and for a moment your heart stutters in your chest. How sure are you that what you brought with you is actually your Poe? Does the First Order have capabilities on this level?

“You go ahead. I’ll b-be out in a minute.” You call and he sighs.

“Open the door.” He repeats.

“Poe, I-... I just need a minute. Please? Go get yourself taken care of.” You plead.

“You have to get looked at, too.” He reminds you.

“I know. I will.” You promise. Just not anywhere he can see you. There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence before you hear him turn and limp away.

You can hear him speaking at the bottom of the ramp, but then there’s a commotion and he’s shouting. Your name is mixed in and you scramble back from the door, already trapped, nowhere to go. Poe’s shouting gets louder, more frantic and tears finally escape as you shove yourself into the shower, twisting to hide. Clearly, this isn’t the resistance you left, the First Order got here before you, tricked Poe into landing. Now they’re going to finish what they started.

The door to the stall is pushed back, revealing a face you thought you recognized, but maybe your mind is playing tricks on you again. Blood loss is making you disoriented.

“Hey, Y/N, glad you’re back.” They say with a smile that seems to warp into something wicked. “Got something for ya, gonna make you feel real good.” He says, already reaching for you.

“No! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch m—“ you thrust your arm out to fend him off, but he jabs a huge needle into the crook of your elbow and you cry out as it pinches. “No,” you croak, already feeling weaker. Your knees no longer support you and you slump, falling right into their open arms.

“Get a table.” He barks over your head and you try to struggle. “Sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. You’re home now.” He promises, scooping you up and setting you gently on a flat surface. Foggy memories try to claw through the sedative, trying to warn you.

You try to roll off the table, you need to escape, you need to make sure Poe is safe. This is all your fault.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy, Y/N.” He says, catching your wrists and securing them to the table. You try to scream, looking around frantically. Faces are blurry, dissolving as the sedative claims you. You can hear Poe shouting your name as he tries to reach you. People are holding him back, stopping him from taking your hand.

“Give her another dose, she’s fighting it.” The man above you says. The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Poe, fighting to get to you.

***

The hike to their base is long. It takes about half a day for them to march you back there. Made worse by the fact that your arms are bound so tightly behind your back that you’re losing feeling.

Poe keeps looking at you to make sure you’re okay, but other than that, he won’t talk to you. You want to tell him you’re sorry for getting him caught, for kissing him and distracting him. And the way he won’t talk to you, the way he keeps cutting off your sentences tells you that he blames you, too.

The troopers are content to watch you trip and fall, laughing as they drag you to your feet again. Sometimes they’ll even purposely trip you just to watch you struggle.

One time in particular, if you had just fallen where their boot caught your ankle, you would have been fine. But you try to right yourself, stumbling forward awkwardly for a few steps before falling and bouncing your head off a rock. Your name manages to hiss through Poe’s clenched jaw, but other than that, nothing. You’re hauled unceremoniously to your feet and shoved forward, but you can feel blood trickling down your face.

They finally lead you into their base, sore and bruised, dragging you through the sterile halls until shoving you both into a room.

It’s a dark room, red lights dotting the walls sporadically. In the middle, two upright restraining tables facing each other.

Just like in your dream.

Chapter 6

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[sunmoontruth-stiles]

Ok this is gonna be long. I’ve literally been slowly working on this for… too long. I’m just in a mood to have a long discussion about ships. I’ll be looking at canon and not, so bare with me. I don’t ship all of these personally. I’m mostly just picking the most popular ones. I chose to leave out a few that I just don’t want to talk about. I tried to keep this loosely chronological, but that quickly went to hell. None of this is meant to be hate towards anyone’s ship, just my personal opinions on each of them.

Canon:

Scott x Allison: True Classic

Scallison is so sweet as it is truly the epitome of young love. Romeo and Juliet, except Romeo is even more of an idiot and Juliet is a badass who dies for a cause. They’re moral and ethical codes are both highly valued by themselves, even if they don’t align with others very often. They loved with everything they had. They were beautiful. We’re they soulmates in the end, or just the first love who will always hold a special place in your heart? Who knows, but I’ll always love these immature kids who thought their love could change everything.

Stiles x Lydia: The Long Awaited

Stydia is as slow burn as you can get. Unfortunately their actual getting together was slightly rushed in my opinion. They didn’t have time to find their own as a couple because Stiles just wasn’t in the show enough at that point. I know the reasons behind it, but it did leave this couple at an awkward stage of official-but-not-shown. The idea that Stiles loved her as a kid, immature and infatuated, and he saw her for who she really was, will always be cute. Then they grew, changed, became friends, and found other people. Them finding each other later on, having real love that’s developed slowly, is a wonderful arc. Though, a part of me will always believe they should have pursued other story lines in the wake of Stiles’ absence from the plot. They’re finally together! …but we don’t get to see it.

Jackson x Lydia: The Image

Oh Jackson and Lydia. Honestly, I love them. Their connection at a time in their lives when they couldn’t open up to anyone else, just hits me right in the feels. I mean, god that HUG. You know the one. Always brings me to tears. I’m so sad their relationship was almost entirely depicted during Jackson’s kanima time when he couldn’t think nor truly act for himself. Those small moments of scared vulnerability when he wanted to protect her from himself… I’ll miss these two. They deserved to find other people and remain life-long friends. I loved their moment in the last episode. I wish they’d gotten to see each other grow. Also they had such bixbi solidarity vibes, and I’ll die on that hill.

Scott x Lydia: Leaders

Ok, I’m gonna be honest here. I ship it. The power couple they would have been?? Also them coming together after they lost Allison would have actually made sense. A part of me kinda wishes the writers had moved on from Stydia as a romantic relationship and leaned into them growing as friends and Stiles moving on from his childhood crush. Scott and Lydia actually would have had good chemistry. They were both very headstrong heroic types, but Lydia would have balanced Scott out well intellectually. They had the history, and I think it could had worked if they wrote it right. Plus, Scott and Lydia would have been a better endgame that Scalia.

Scott x Kira: New Beginnings

These two were adorable. Kira was a badass, don’t get me wrong, but she let herself be soft in a way Allison was always afraid to. This couple was truly Baby. Absolute dorks. I can definitely see the lasting quality between the two of them. They saw things very similarly, and had a ton in common. I do think Kira deserves more characterization outside of their relationship, like more of her friendship with Malia. Overall, her departure from the show will always be sad to me. It was bad writing. Scott was over her far too quickly.

Aiden x Lydia: Pretty People Herd

I honestly didn’t see much between these two other than mutual attraction. The best thing to come out of this relationship was Lydia’s line, “You’re not just a bad boy, Aiden. You’re a bad guy. And I don’t want to be with the bad guys.” Good character development moment.

Ethan x Danny: Step to Redemption

Danny really was the thing that made Ethan look outside of the pack for what he really wanted out of life. They had a few cute scenes. Gotta love Danny’s final remarks, “Dude, it’s Beacon Hills.”

Allison x Isaac: Unexpected Rebound

Ok, I like these two. Isaac could match Allison’s snark in a way Scott couldn’t. They both fought the progression of the relationship slightly. They didn’t expect to fall for each other. They were less willing to let someone in close. I’d love to have seen more… but unfortunately their time was limited. On a side note, sometimes their relationship did feel like ‘we both are in love with the same guy, let’s cope with each other’, but I find that completely valid. I’ll talk about Scallisaac later though.

Stiles x Malia: Anchors

Ok but, them <3 I love what they did for each other. Stiles was able to help Malia connect to her humanity and other people. He never tried to isolate her in their relationship and encouraged her growth. Malia offered Stiles the emotional support he never asked for. She defended him, fought for him, and loved him fiercely. Stiles needed that so much after season 3. I think they were a love that wasn’t meant to last, but the impact of it was forever. I wish we’d gotten to see a real end for them where they agreed that they needed to grow as individuals but would always still care.

Liam x Hayden: Three’s a Pattern

These two’s characterization stopped whenever they had storylines together. Their relationship was built on Scallison references. Hayden’s character could have been interesting, but they never really gave her a moment to shine. Liam has the worst plots when they revolved around her. Cute couple, poor writing.

Derek x Braeden: Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girl Boss

Derek deserves to be happy so much. Kate and Jennifer were just... jeez. Him and Braeden were cute and deserved more screen time. I think her intensity allowed for Derek to let go of control a bit more comfortably. Let Derek Be Soft. Anyway, love them.

Corey x Mason: Gotta Have That Rep TM

These two could have been cute if they were shown for more than two seconds at a time. I highkey forget Corey even existed all the time. Kinda just felt like a relationship to fill TW’s gay quota.

Jackson x Ethan: The Callback

Honestly? Loved them. Loved the chemistry. Loved the dynamic. Best twist. I know it was probably written in like that because Colton came out during his time away from the show, but it absolutely fit his character. Jethan is top tier.

Melissa x Chris: BAMF Parent Duo

Ok, so like, Melissa deserved this plot. She deserved someone to care about her. However... what the hell? Chris? In canon, his wife died like 2-ish years prior? His daughter died 1 year prior?? Is Chris really in a position to pursue a new relationship?? Also, like, Scott and Allison dated and loved each other up to her death. Kinda weird to have their parents hook up. I don’t hate it, but I don’t ship it…?

Scott x Malia: Lead up? What’s lead up?

These two came out of nowhere I stg. Like, 6B really tried to tell us this was something that had been slowly developing in the background? Also, I understand that they are their own people, adults, and completely in charge of their own romantic pursuits: but did Scott seriously never call Stiles? Like, Malia wasn’t just his first girlfriend. She was his first. Like, dude that’s your best friend?? Not even a head’s up? No, ‘hey would this bother you?’ Oof. Plus Malia was way too chaotic for Scott. She existed in gray morality that always prioritized her immediate circle, and Scott was a very black/white type of heroism. I just didn’t feel like they fit.

Non-Canon:

Scott x Stiles: Childhood Best Friends

Ya, sorry, I don’t ship Sciles at all. I get it. Like, I totally understand the ship, and I mean no judgment at all. I just see them as friends. I really value good male friendships in media because I feel like we don’t get enough, and I always liked these two.

Stiles x Derek: Enemies to Lovers. 100k. Angst. Hurt/Comfort.

God these two really are what fanfiction was made for. I could write a much longer discussion about Sterek, and I probably will eventually. I’ll try to keep this brief. These two weren’t always on the same side, but their approach was the same. They were very similar at their core. Plus, wow the chemistry. This should have been canon. Jeff’s a coward.

Allison x Lydia: Powerful.

This ship is so great. They really had a great dynamic, and a romantic plot would have easily fit the established narrative. Lydia’s confidence in herself and Allison’s confidence in her own abilities crossing over to each other because that’s what the other lacked? Iconic.

Danny x Jackson: He Gets Him

Danny really saw Jackson for everything he was and still cared. I wished we’d gotten to see more of them. I  want more background with Jackson’s eventual coming out and his friendship with Danny. Like, they ended up dating the same guy. What did Ethan have to say about that??

Stiles x Jackson: Bastards

Ok these two had a super fun dynamic. The asshole-energy between them was, great. The snark was always so entertaining.

Melissa x Noah: Family

How were these two not endgame? Their sons were practically brothers already. They had amazing chemistry. The flirting? Not to mention, their timeline would have made way more sense. Missed opportunity.

Chris x Peter: The Opposite of Love is Indifference, Not Hate

Ok so like, this was definitely one of those ships that I had absolutely no knowledge of before I was pretty into the fandom. Like, this was not something I would have guessed just after watching the show. That being said; my god the chaos alone…

Scott x Isaac: The Disaster Duo

Okay ya I love these two. Two dumb asses who act like idiot puppies. Such a fun dynamic. Plus?? Chemistry??? Hellooo

Scott x Allison x Isaac: Three Heads Are Better Than One

This ship is definitely one of my personal favorites. I very rarely poly-ship. I just feel like most of them are just love triangles with an ‘easy solution’, when two of them have no real connection. That is so not the case here. I feel like all of them have such great chemistry with each other. They also have a great dynamic as a group. Season 3A was really just Scallisaac rights.

Stiles x Isaac: I Hate You, jk…Not Really

Ok I loved their banter, but I really just don’t see this ship. Idk, I don’t personally ship it. Would have loved to see their friendship develop more tho.

Erica x Allison: Duo that would stab you with a stiletto

I don’t ship it, but I do wish we’d seen them become friends. I feel like they had a very artificial ‘girls fighting over a boy’ dynamic? They could have been such a badass duo.

Stiles x Erica: Batman x Catwoman

Ok I’m not sure exactly how to express my feelings for these two so bare with me. OMG I love their dynamic so much, and they are sooo cute. Their energy? Amazing. Chemistry? Great. History? It’s there and has so much potential. 10/10. Love them. But, no, I don’t ship it lol. Just really love their friendship, but with the underlying history of crushes.

Boyd x Erica: Was This Not Canon?

How can anyone not love Berica? Ugh they are adorable. These two deserved so much better.

Boyd x Cora: Survivors

Honestly I don’t really see it? Like they definitely had a connection, but it never felt romantic. I really feel like they just had to lean on each other and bond to make it through captivity, and it just lasted.

Boyd x Erica x Cora: The Pack

I literally learned this was a ship a couple days ago. Similar feelings towards this as Bora, but with the added hesitancy of we never actually saw Erica and Cora interact.

Cora x Stiles: Slow Build Up

These two were clearing being lined up to be a thing before Cora ended up leaving. I can’t say I’m disappointed they never happened. Kinda felt like they just wanted to straight-code Sterek.

Cora x Lydia: Mean Lesbians

Not much interaction to actually go off of, but yes I 100% support. They have very different approaches to problems, which is fun. Very ‘opposites attract’.

Malia x Kira: “Maybe you could date the coyote?”

Another one of my favorites!! They really complimented each other. Also, how full circle would they have been? They were introduced in back-to-back episodes. Malia stalking her as a coyote? The line from Kira’s dad about dating it? It would have been so funny if that ended up happening.

Malia x Lydia: Beauty and the Beast, but make it wlw

These two were fun. I liked their friendship, but I don’t really ship it. Though, rip Stiles that would have been hilarious.

Parrish x Lydia: The Cop and The Minor

Must I say more? Like, Parrish’s character, so sweet and big rule follower, did not make sense for what went down with Lydia. I love Parrish, but the dynamic just felt off. It didn’t feel consistent with the rest of his characterization.

Parrish x Stiles: The Cop and The Minor, but gay?

Ok, same reasoning as above, but also they had absolutely no connection romantically.

Scott x Theo / Stiles x Theo: Sometimes The Villain is Hot

Ok I’ve put these together because I have the same opinion for both. I don’t ship it. Neither had any rebuilding of trust, and Theo really hurt both of them. I just don’t really think they work.

Mason x Liam: Sciles Puppy Pack Edition

Similar to my feeling about Sciles, I just don’t ship these two. They had a good friendship, from the little we saw of it.

Theo x Liam: Anchors 2: Electric Boogaloo

Another personal favorite! I really don’t even understand why this didn’t go canon?? The elevator scene was just, so intense. They helped each other grow in 6B, and I really loved their dynamic. They should have hooked up.

Honorable Mention?: 

Parrish x Laura: What’s canon?

I’ve seen this in fanfic a lot, and I actually really like it lol. I thought I’d add it in here because I do love the creativity of fandoms.

[indianamoonshine]

siberu | reader x din djarin

summary: reader is not human, but a force-senstive humanoid, who is searching for a legendary sickle in the caverns of an arctic planet named siberus. she stumbles across a lonely, very lost, and very cold din djarin in the snow. they discuss the strange little creature in din’s bag.

mentions: cursing. mention of the youngling situation during order 66. gender is a construct. reader is absolutely fawning over how cute grogu is.

note: just two people repressing obvious feelings. this was a request so i hope @tolkienblackgirl​ approves! i’m sorry it was literally months before i got to it. it’s not a super happy ending and a little angsty which is very unlike me. i really wish i could’ve done more with this, but i have three other fics on my hands at the moment so i had to make it a one-shot.

rating: m just in case.

it was way too fucking cold here.

you didn’t care for siberus just by the briefing alone, but when your ship lands upon the frozen terrain, you teeth immediately clench. snow falls around you in flurries, the wind spiraling them into a weak tornado at your booted feet as soon as your ramp tumbles noisily upon the ground. the air was heavy with frost and it showed each time you drew breath, the vapor chilling immediately in the polar atmosphere.

you tug your shawl tighter around you - a piece of fabric that you realized very quickly wouldn’t do much against the bite of the tundra. you thought you were ready for the weather - thought you were prepared for the manner of dress required for siberus, but the reputation of the ice world had proceeded even the nastiest of rumors. no one dared tread upon siberus ground - not in years, anyway.

but that wasn’t just because of its climate.

siberus was one of the planets utterly destroyed by “the great purge”. a distressing lack of life forms shown on your radar as you scan the horizon, save for the exceptionally evolved animals that could withstand the tundra. as soon as you landed, they’d immediately scattered across the snow and fled to their holes in the ground. you didn’t blame them; for as long as they’d been isolated, the idea of an intruder must’ve been beyond terrifying.

the council told you it was here. somewhere, in these thousands of kilometers of snow and ice, is the last jedi sickle.

a powerful weapon...but you argued that it was hardly warranted a visit to hoth’s much crueler and unforgiving sibling. hells, the empire hadn’t even dared visit. maybe they might have had they known the sickle was secured in carbonite. maybe they’d gone out of their way if that piece of information managed to trickle through their grapevine, but even then, was it worth their time? you weren’t even convinced it was.

it was described as “the poor man’s dark saber”. while the sickle was nearly impossible to destroy, it wouldn’t peel through anything like the dark saber could. no. the dark saber was somewhat of a mythical thing. the sickle, however, felt more convincing.

and for whatever reason, they had entrusted you to retrieve it.

they were the council of augusten, your home planet, blackened by night at all times. a symbiotic relationship with a bio-luminescent plant was, essentially, your sun - your star. this resulted in a tolerable, but irritating, daytime blindness of its natives peoples and creatures. and while siberus wasn’t exactly bright this time of day (especially with such a raging storm concealing your view), it was enough to make the vessels thrum tensely behind your eyes.

you’re one of the last! they said triumphantly, as though to sweeten you up. a survivor of the order! it is your duty!

bullshit.

it wasn’t such a strange idea that the council wanted the sickle. it wasn’t, by any means, quite like the mandalore legend of the dark saber. but it wasn’t just the power wielding the weapon itself brought - it was the kyber crystal within it.

it could power thousands of machines and harness energy for millions of resources. honestly, you hadn’t even considered the worthiness of kyber crystals for anything other than constructing lightsabers, but it made sense. enough sense that you felt obligated to fetch it from this frozen wasteland.

you talked a big talk about being able to find it. hells! you almost convinced yourself it’d be a piece of cake by the way you spoke with such confidence and bullshit conviction at the briefing. but looking out upon the snow-laden horizon - mountains and all - you suddenly weren’t so sure of yourself.

pride, as always, comes before the fall. as usual.

you even considered going back. there wasn’t a handbook for finding ancient, priceless, jedi artifacts. there wasn’t a tracking beacon for it either and your abilities could only do so much. you prayed to the force that, if anything, your connection as a jedi might be enough to conjure it from hiding. and, of course, that proved fruitless within the first half-hour.

you’re about to collapse. it wasn’t the night that shrouded you that almost did it; the darkness was your home - your element. you vision (very literally) fared much better in the blackness. the cold, on the other hand, was licking at your bones and causing you to tremble beneath your own weight.

it’s when you’re on the verge of making camp that you spot a figure upon the horizon.

not just any figure.

a person.

there’s a surge of motivation to keep moving. (strange, how that works...) whoever it is isn’t very far away - not even four kilometers. and if they’re searching for transportation it clearly isn’t in reach. they move at a slow pace, forcing themselves to walk against the bite of siberus’s gale.

when you’re in reach of this mysterious being, you yell out in haste. “hey! you!”

the figure stops their fight with the current of snow. they’re knee-deep in the tundra - you’re waist deep, really. and when you squint through the particles of snow, blinking rapidly to melt it away, you notice the shine of...

beskar.

“a mandalorian?!” you shout.

you shuffle closer as they remain still as stone. if they truly were a mandalorian, they’d certainly be on their guard - certainly moving for a blaster at their hip. you’re able to see their helmet’s face pierced upon yours as you step closer. how they managed to hear you, you couldn’t be sure, but it was a welcome surprise all the same.

you wrap your shawl closer around you, protecting your cheeks against the sting of cold. you observe the mandalorian (or what you expected to be the mandalorian) in their steely armor as they consider you for what felt like minutes. (too long in this damn climate.) siberus’s two moons allow the beskar to glint when the shoulder pauldrons move just right, a beam of light reflecting into your sensitive eyes. you hiss as a result.

“what is it you want?” the mandalorian demands, body now angling towards you. they’ve obviously come to the conclusion you’re of no immediate danger.

you narrow your eyes as the wind picks up, flakes of snow blurring this person until they’re just a speck against a backdrop. you don’t even consider your next words - you’ve always been too trusting. but something in this mandalorian’s spirit told you that they were harmless. in fact, they could prove valuable to this mission.

anything to get you off this frozen rock as quickly as possible.

“come to my ship! it’s warm!” you toss your head in the direction of where you came.

the mandalorian is taken aback. they recoil, physically, on the balls of their feet. who in their right kriffin’ mind would invite a mandalorian to stay in the privacy of their own ship? especially on such a deserted planet?

still, the mandalorian shouts over the wind. “why should i trust you?!”

there’s really nothing to do but shrug. “because we’re both about to freeze to death!” you point to their beskar that is, while impenetrable, starting to collect icicles. no, nothing could break beskar, but the mandalorian inside it could freeze.

this is enough to convince the mandalorian.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

you’ve made two cups of java by the time the mandalorian finally un-clenches his fists.

it’s a him. he told you by the way he moved - how his shoulders barely fit through the limited width of your ship’s entrance or how his voice rung beneath his helmet. still, gender didn’t really fit in your culture. gender wasn’t worthy enough to be considered important so you were hesitant of calling them either or.

it was when you kept dancing around the pronouns that he finally uttered, “i’m a male.”

you raise a brow, pouring the steaming java into a ceramic mug that had chips and stains on the sides of it. (the handle on yours broke after an upsetting landing from last mission. handles were hard to come by in this galaxy. a luxury, even.)

“oh?” you ask.

the mandalorian grunts, barely slipping his helmet past his lips to drink. you knew all about their creed so it came as no surprise when he immediately pulled it back down his chin.

“i know you’re augustenian. i’m aware of how your people feel about identity.” he pauses, lifting his head to watch your reaction. “male is fine. he is fine.”

it was kind - not blunt - the way this came from his lips. you allow a gentle smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “you knew from the markings, right?” you ask, motioning to the upside down crescent upon your forehead; it glowed a faint green in the darkness.

he nods a little. it’s hard to speak to someone when you’re unable to look into their eyes. you depended on the expressions of beings and it felt impersonal to speak to him now because of it. still, you weren’t one to question creed or faith.

“it’s hard to miss,” he replies, bringing his cup to the side of his body, and shifting between his cloak.

you raise a brow. “what are you doing?”

the mandalorian stills, aware that it may look strange if not explained. “i, uh...” he takes a deep breath and pulls a woven strap from his shoulder; a large, lumpy thing, that moves when he situates it. it even makes a coo’ing noise.

“did you manage to catch some wildlife?” you ask, amazed. you tilt your head, reaching a hand out to pull back the flap of the bag.

but the mandalorian grabs your hand in a brisk movement, clenching hard around your wrist. “don’t. he’s...” he sighs. “he’s a little jumpy.”

you furrow your brows. he knew the mannerism of this creature personally? it must’ve been a traveling companion you’d failed to notice. you pull away and nod, waiting for him to reveal whatever this thing was.

when a pair of long, green, and fuzzy ears pop out from beneath the bag’s opening, you shriek in delight. the little creature stares back at you, large black eyes rounded in the moonlight, and a curious smile beaming upon his kind face when he understands you are of no danger.

“what a precious little thing!” you coo. you reach out for him, fingers twiddling in anticipation. “may i?”

the mandalorian fixates his stare more heavily upon you. with a protective gruff he says, “if you try anything with him...”

you shake your head, bouncing a little restlessly in your seat. “i wouldn’t ever hurt a child.”

for some reason he seems to believe you but still hands you the baby with caution. when the creature’s little hands wrap themselves around you, a jolt of bliss surges through your body. you’ve always adored children and this really was a youngling.

but...he was more than that.

your smile fades slowly from your mien as you stare into his eyes, watching something unfold that the mandalorian before you can’t see. he’s sensitive like you. force sensitive. you can feel the way that the energy beats around him - like a dance - but weakening with every moment.

and then there’s an image.

an image you wished you’d never see.

younglings sprawled upon the jedi temple floor, their bodies mangled and bloodied from vicious crime. you find yourself turning away from his penetrating stare, brows furrowed in pain, when a collective scream of terror ricochets from a place very far in the past.

you weren’t there to see it in person. just in stories. as a survivor, the guilt haunted you at night. this was certainly...overwhelming.

“where did you find this child?” you find yourself asking, words barely audible through chapped lips. you didn’t even realize you were saying it until after it was done.

the mandalorian is quick to reply. “there was a bounty on his life. the empire - well, whoever they are now - wanted him.”

you find yourself gripping the child to your chest in possessiveness. “no. you can’t,” you gasp. “they’ll kill him.”

the mandalorian raises a hand to you in a show of sympathy. “i know. i didn’t give him to them.” he pauses, watching as you cradle the child in your arms and petting his long ears with tears in your eyes. “are you...”

you raise your head to watch him, anxious as to your next move. but you sputter out the truth like it was poison - like you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “a jedi,” you confirm. “yes. or...i was.”

the mandalorian is taken aback but the news registers him into silence. he observes the way you press the little one to your cheek and give him a small kiss near his eye. he smiles - albiet, sadly - beneath his helmet when the kid nuzzles against you in a show of affection, little claws wrapping themselves around your forefinger as though his life depended on it.

”i...” he hesitates, and then sighs. “i was quested to bring him back to his own kind. your kind.”

you’re aware of what he wants...what he’s trying to say.

“no.” you answer. “i can’t train him. i won’t.”

the mandalorian goes silent. through clenched teeth he asks, “why not?”

you look into the child’s face. he hasn’t spoken to you - not in the way jedi are able - but he’s given you an insight to his relationship with this man. and his fear was palpable - thick.

he was closing himself off. he was unstable.

you rub the child’s ears once more, finger and thumb warming the skin. “he’s cut himself off from the force. i don’t have the influence on him that is necessary to change his heart.” you sigh, placing the child in the mando’s arms. “i’m sorry.”

the mandalorian looks down at the child in his embrace as he snuggles against his chilled beskar without protest. “what can i do?”

you sigh, rubbing circles into your temple. what could he do? you had barely passed the trials by the time order 66 was executed. and most jedi were killed during the great purge. you were one of the very last - one of those the empire had not successfully tracked down.

but you were no master.

“there is a jedi...” you whisper. you wring your hands together in apprehension. “i’ve never met her. she’s called ahsoka tano. there are rumors she lives.”

the mandalorian is quick to respond. “how do i find her?”

“i don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “her survival isn’t confirmed.”

the mandalorian grumbles under his breath. “dank farrik.” he sets the child back into his sling and tucks him to his side again.

you watch as the two of them stare at one another, both desperate for answers you weren’t able to give them. they seem to have endured a long journey - long enough that they’ve formed a bond you’ve never seen between a mandalorian and another living creature.

you sigh. “i’m sorry i can’t do more,” you tell him. “but at least stay and rest. you look as though you need it.”

he watches you between the slits of his visor and it’s unsettling that you don’t know the color of his eyes. that feels important to know about a person. he wasn’t a machine - he was a man - and he should be regarded as such.

it takes a moment for him to process the invitation. surely he didn’t get very many of those. while that wasn’t surprising it was still very upsetting; more upsetting than you’d expected, anyway.

you offer him your bed but he denies and tells you he’ll sleep on the floor. if you’d like to share with the child i’d be more than grateful, he tells you. you knew it was an honor to be trusted with this child’s life, so you accept.

in the morning, the storm has passed, and the child still lay in your arms after a night of peaceful sleep. you feel the mandalorian - whose name you never got - strategically remove the child from your limbs.

and just when he’s about to leave - he hesitates. you can hear his footfalls stop short of the exit as you pretend to still sleep for whatever reason. maybe you were afraid to look upon him again - that you’d find yourself slipping into a feeling you weren’t allowed to humor.

so you remain still.

you remain still even as the mandalorian wipes a strand of hair from your eyes, takes a deep breath, and allows the child to snuggle his nose against yours. he coos just slightly - a little goodbye - and it causes your stomach to drop to your knees.

you consider waking; to tell them you’d help find ahsoka, to say fuck it to whatever jedi order didn’t exist anymore and entertain whatever butterflies had tickled your insides when the mandalorian’s caress embraced your skin.

but when you open your eyes, they’ve gone.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ 

NOTE: i’m so sorry this wasn’t what i originally envisioned but i still like it! also, i’d like to go ahead and say - in case i didn’t make it clear enough - that mando asked for the child to sleep with reader because it would’ve been super uncomfortable for him to sleep on the floor.

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: Baby, Please

undefined

Previous: Beacon in the Night

          Jungkook stares out the window of his bedroom, snow falling lightly, the only sound, his breath, slowly in and out. His phone, volume on, twirling absently between his fingers. In the distance, he can hear the other members laughing and yelling, their conversation and dinner prep echoing. The Yoongi’s space is attempting to be filled with their joy, as if laughing twice as hard would make up for his absence. Jungkook knows soon he’ll have to go out, pretend to be fine with the situation, and eat dinner. He’ll play make believe for as long as he can, but somewhere between dinner and the first movie or round of whatever game his hyungs force him to pick, Jungkook’s mind will slip.

           As he slips, his five hyungs will turn to the only thing that loosens him up, making his sadness bite a little bit less… Christmas Karaoke. They’ll queue the tracks, mixing in group songs with power ballads, a few hip hop and R&B tunes to balance the candy-coated sugar coma of the season, and for an hour or two, Jungkook won’t be swallowed in despair. But then, your favorite song will play, an accident, they didn’t know, and you will be the only thing on his mind. The tears will flow, mixing with whatever alcoholic beverage he’s consuming, and Jungkook will disappear into his bedroom, try not to call you, and force himself into an empty slumber.

           Instead, he’s staying on his bed, watching the snow fall in increasingly larger flakes, flurries swirling and sticking softly to the ground, building upon one another to form snowbanks.

           It’s in the middle of his reverie that his phone rings, your photo popping up.

           “Honey,” He says softly, doe eyes staring into yours.

           “Hi,” You sigh, his voice always feels like a warm embrace. It’s familiar and kind, steadfast in its ability to sooth you.

           “You look beautiful,” He smiles, eyes not crinkling at the edges.

           “Thanks, you look ethereal as always,” You smile, faltering as yours refuses to reach past your cheek bones.

           “Ethereal?” His expression is quizzical.

           “Yeah, I feel like it typically describes Jimin, but that hazy snow filter you’ve got going is just making you look so… heavenly,” You shrug.

           “You’re making me blush,” Jungkook’s smile moves closer to his wide eyes, nearly reaching as his cheeks turn a soft shade of crimson.

           “What are you up to?” You ask.

           “Sitting, feeling pathetic,” He says, the hint of a smile disappearing completely. You watch as his expression completely falls.

           “Kook,” You say, sympathetic to his pain.

           “I’m trying not to be so, sad, but it’s too hard,” He runs a hand through his hair, tussling the locks to one side, his undercut on full display.

           “I’m trying too, it just fucking sucks,” You say, instinctively adjusting your ponytail.

           “We had a plan, you know? We had a plan, we had arrangements, we had so much fun last year, and I was just so excited to share this Christmas with you, here,” His words are tumbling out of him, succinctly and organized.

           “I was looking forward to it... I bought a new hat,” You offer.

           “Oh?” He asks, happy for any sliver of joy.

           “Yeah, let me get it,” You stood up quickly, showing Jungkook your mid drift and legging clad legs as you moved through your bedroom to find your new beanie.

           “Aye, what are you wearing?” He asks, staring at the space your face was just in.

           “What? It’s a long sleeve cropped athletic shirt thing,” You answer, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

           “You look so sexy,” He says, a smirk on his lips, lust flickering in his eyes.

           “Jungkook,” You gasp.

           “Y/N,” He says eyebrow cocking.

           “Isn’t my new beanie cute?” You deflect the rising tension by placing your new cashmere beanie on your head. You bobble, showing the plush toggle on top.

           “It’s very cute,” Jungkook laughs.

           “I sent a few things to you,” You say, taking your hat off and sitting back down. “And by a few, I mean two boxes…”

           “Two boxes? How big are these boxes?” Laughter was in his voice as he waits for your response.

           “They’re standard, Jungkook,” You’re a little embarrassed by the amount of humor he’s finding in this admission of your Christmas splurge.

           “Standard? Oh my god, they’re huge!” Jungkook can’t stop laughing.

           “I got carried away, okay?” Your tone is defensive and chaste, a blush in your cheeks.

           “What’s in them?” He asks, the crinkles in his eyes present as his bunny teeth part to laugh again.

           “Goodies,” You say, trying to hide your smile by glaring at him.

           “Mm, what kind of goodies?” Jungkook settles down, taking a deep breath to tuck his laughs away.  

           “Get your mind out of the gutter, Jungkook,” You respond, faux shock laced in your words.

           Jungkook rolls his eyes at your gentle scolding.

           “What’s in the boxes?” He asks again.

           “Well, something for your hyungs,” You tell him.

           “You didn’t have to,” He’s always amazed by your generosity.

           “I know, I wanted to. It’s nothing big... I don’t know if they’ll even like it. They’re all wrapped, with their names on them. And I sent a few gifts for you, one from my aunts, one from my mom, and a few from me,” You rattle off the list, which seems far longer than Jungkook thought it would be.

           “You didn’t have to get me anything,” He says, a soft smile on his lips.

           “Jungkook, it’s Christmas,” You remind him.

           “I know, but they’re just items,” His words are delicate, he knows how you feel about the holiday.

           “I put a lot of thought into them okay?” Your annoyance is clear in the way your lips punctuate okay.

           “Hey, you know I’ll love them,” His eyes are trained on you, watching as you soften.

           “And you know, some cookies that will probably be smashed or stale… and a few, other items,” You shrug, a flirtatious look in your eyes.

           “Other items?” Jungkook raises his eyebrows, smirk on his lips. Had you sent him what he hoped for?

           “Mm, oh and something for your parents and Jung-Hyun.” You nod, signally the end of your list.

           “Jagi, you’re too sweet.”        

           “I know, my thoughtfulness is unparalleled,” You shrug at the compliment.

           “As is your humility,” He chuckles.

           “You love it,” You smirk.

           “I sent you something too,” Jungkook says, leaning back against his headboard.

           “Oh?” You’re not entirely surprised, but Jungkook has a way of getting you the perfect thing that you’d never in a million years pick for yourself. Your favorite cashmere sweater, the Chanel purse you vowed to yourself you’d buy when you made any money (which frankly, you never did), your favorite winter coat, a ring with gems from your birth months, a 14k white gold necklace with his initials, a tribute you were sure was tacky, but always made you feel closer to him… a photo album filled with your most precious memories… The year he created an entire journal full of art, poems, lyrics, that reminded him of you… You wanted for nothing, and Jungkook gave you everything.

           “Yes, it should be there soon,” Jungkook’s smile begins to falter.

           “Mine will be too,” You look down, picking at the piece of paper sat on your desk.

           “You’re not going to surprise me and send you know, yourself?” He whispers, knowing the answer.

           “No, I’m not shipping myself to you,” Your voice is hollow, eyes still downcast.

           “But can you?” His voice is small, fragile, weak.

           “Honey,” You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t keep having this conversation, it hurts too much. It’s just one holiday. We spent decades without each other, can’t we make it through this?”

           “It’s been months, Y/N. I’ve tried holding back the tears, I’ve tried to sing and deck the halls with everyone, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I miss you in my bones,” Jungkook’s free hand clutches his chest, his eyelids becoming heavy as the tears start to form.

           “I feel it too… We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other,” You admit.

          The isolation of being apart from your lover for nearly a year… a year of fear, of anxiety, of sleepless nights and terrors as the world became overwhelmed by a pandemic, and the states were thrust into another round of Black Lives Matter protests coupled with an election that could be deemed as one of, if not the most, important election on American soil. All you wanted was Jungkook. His presence, ever calming, his joy, always contagious, was what your soul craved. You spent hours on video calls and phone calls, which often devolved into video sex, any form of intimacy you could muster to tie you to one another. The promotional work of BE, paired with the success of Dynamite and their Bang Bang Con and ONE concerts, Jungkook had zero ability to even try and find his way to you, or to chart a course for you to find him.

          It wasn’t fucking possible. He knew it, you knew it, and few things had been as devastating as realizing you were going an indefinite amount of time without each other.

           “Who am I going to kiss at midnight? Jimin?” Jungkook scoffs.

           “You’re performing, there’ll be so-

           “No, it won’t be you. I’m not kissing anyone except for you and our children,” Jungkook’s remark is flippant, a call back to a conversation you’d had months ago, wherein he asked where you thought your lives were headed.

           “Jungkook!” You say, eyes wide. You’d vowed to put talk of babies or marriage on the back burner until he had an idea of when he would do military service, before 30 or after. You hadn’t caught baby fever, but with Jungkook you knew it would hit and hit hard.

           “I didn’t know I would hurt this much, if I did, fuck, I would’ve flown you out sooner or come to you-

           “Jungkook you couldn’t have come to me, and there’s no way the government would’ve let me in.” Your tone is stern, moving quickly towards your limit of heartache.

           “I don’t fucking care!” Jungkook’s tears are flowing freely. You wonder if it was possible for anyone to cry us much as the two of you have in the past ten months.

           “I miss you every second of everyday,” Jungkook’s heartache punctuates every word.

           “Write me a song,” You suggest.

           “What?”

           “Write me a song, or five, fuck an entire album. Put your anguish into music, sing for me,” Your eyes are bright with possibilities.

           “I can do that,” He says, the idea sweeping over him like a wave in the pacific.

           “I’ll be here, embroidering and puzzling my sadness away,” You offer a smile. “Might as well put it into something productive.”

           “What if it doesn’t work?” He asks.

           “It won’t, I know it won’t, but can’t we just pretend it will?” You assured.

          “It’s hard to pretend my heart isn’t breaking over and over and over again.” Jungkook wipes his eyes, slightly alarmed at the number of tears he’d produced.

           “Mine is too,” Your words were soft, almost an echo of his hurt.

           “So, just, find a way to come home. Baby, please, just, come home for Christmas.”

Next: Pretend That We’re There

[deeperthanswcrds]

AN INQUEST ! BROKENCROWNS’ FIRST TASK !

as  the  investigations  at  winterfell begin ,  so  do  the  inquests .  investigators  (  both  of  northern  and  southern  origin ) pull  guests  aside ,  asking  what  questions  they  can  to  try  and  identify  culprits  and  keep the  tenuous  peace.  below ,  is  the  set  of  questions  the  inquisitor  asks .  be  careful what  you  say - as  little  birds  are  known  to  flock nearby ,  particularly  with  the  ravens  missing  their  home .

All muses below, replies go in the order of:  Anthor  Daemon  Dorian  Valarr 

REQUIRED QUESTIONS

what is your full title / occupation ?

“Ser Anthor Lefford, Lord and Knight.” 

“Daemon Aurane Velaryon, Lord of Dirftmark.” 

“Ser Dorian Sand, Knight of the Kingsguard.” 

“Lord Valarr Waters, Master of Whispers.”

what do your friends / loved ones call you ?

“My friends call me “Thor”, I rarely hear anyone call me Anthor these days.”

“Daemon.” 

“Nicknames are for children.” 

“Val but only family. I don’t allow just anyone to call me that.”

where were you born ?

“The Westerlands, I was there but I don’t remember much.” 

“On a ship near Driftmark.” 

“Godsgrace.” 

“Waters is a bastard name for the Crownlands....you tell me where I was born.” 

do you have siblings ?

“I do....in the sense that we have the same parents.” 

“Far too many.” 

“Yes.” 

“Dragons are as fertile as Stags.”

do you have children ? do you want them ?

“I don’t have them but I want them. I want a lot of them.”

“No. Of course I want children.” 

“Children are disgusting.” 

“Dragons are as fertile as Stags. Many dragon seeds have been planted.”

do you have a positive relationship with your family ?

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Yes, we’re a beacon of strength and unity.” 

“Sure.” 

“I love my family more than anyone in this world.”

do you have any family traditions / memories that you value ?

“....no.”

“For the birth of every child, we come together on the same ship for the birth. We drink and praise the Merling King.” 

“My father gave me my first spear, a man’s spear and told me, ‘you’re not a man until your spear is part of your arm’.”

“We like to sit on dragon eggs and hold hands.”

how do you typically spend a day ?

“I train my mind and body everyday. I’m soon to be married and I want to learn more in the way of being a husband but it seems that’s something a man must learn alone.” 

“I meet with my smallfolk and I hold court. If needed, I’m in King’s Landing. We build the best ships known to man so I spent a lot of time organizing.” 

“I protect the most important people alive. The Prince and Princess of Dorne. When I’m not doing that I train and when I’m not doing that I spend my time enjoying my privacy.” 

“Oh, you know, I collect information and read. Reading is fundamental.”

are you religious ?

“The only Gods that exist are the old Gods.” 

“I am. I suppose.” Daemon shrugged, “I don’t go to the sept or talk to trees or turtles.” 

“Religion is for children.” 

Valarr laughs, his head falling back and his arms wrapping around his middle.

what is your greatest strength ?

“You’ll never see me coming.”

“Sailing.” 

“I’m the greatest swordsman in Dorne.” 

“I’m the smartest man in any room.” 

your greatest weakness ?

“Love.”

“I get irritated very easily.” 

“Temper.” 

“I am a dragon. We don’t have weaknesses.".

describe a hidden talent / little known skill you believe you posess.

“Singing. No one knows but I do enjoy singing.” 

“If you get two people to hold me upside down I can empty a pitcher without spilling one drop.” 

“Dancing and no, I won’t go into it.” 

“I’m a lovely singer, if I wanted to be a disappointment I would travel the realm and sing for a living.” 

do you fall in love easily ?

“No but I would like too.”

“No.” 

“What a stupid question.” 

“...love is a trap.”

do you have someone you would die for ? who?

“I would die for my family.”

“My wife.” 

“My Prince and Princess and Joanna Stark.” 

“My daughter.” 

describe your life five years from now.

“I suppose that I’ll be a father by then, maybe I’ll have some more experiences. “ He wanted to do something to have the North and South united under the Targaryens but he wasn’t an idiot, some things were better left unsaid.

“Four kids, maybe, more ships, and I want to have more added on to the castle.”

“No.”

“I plan on having much longer hair when I get older.” 

do you consider yourself to be a secretive person ?

“I try to be.”

“A man must hold his tongue.” 

“Yes.” 

“I love secrets. Do you want to tell me some secrets? Lets see if I know them.”

is there a secret related to you that you hide from most people ?

“No one knows everything about anyone.” 

Daemon stares for a long moment then rolls his eyes in irritation, “we all have secrets.” 

“Mmm.” 

“Of course, good look figuring them out.” 

do you put yourself before others , or others before yourself ?

“Other first, if I love them.”

“I put my wife first. My family. My King.” 

“I would be a terrible Kingsguard.” 

“Depends on the day.”

do you like yourself ?

“I like me...I suppose.” 

“Of course.” 

“I don’t think about it.”

“I’m delightful.” 

do you believe that you are a good person ?

“Good is subjective. I’m subjectively the best person.”

“Are you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good is boring.” 

are you a vengeful person ?

“Vengeance can be useful.” 

“Yes.” 

“Yes.” 

“Who? Me? Never.” 

EVENT / PLOT DROP RELATED QUESTIONS -

why  did  you  accept  the  invitation  to  the  coronation ?

“It’s important to be here.” 

“It was either me or my mother. And my mother hates snow.” 

“The  Starks and Martells are family. I go where the Martells require me.” 

“I wanted to play in the snow.” 

what are your impressions of the northern  rulers ? their  home ?

“The North is strong. Our leaders are just as Strong. Winterfell is nice.” 

“I don’t know them. I hate this place though.” 

“I like the walls.” 

“I find Northmen unlikeable but the rulers seem fit. I don’t care for Winterfell.” 

were you partaking in the festivities as an invited guest , or someone in service to an invited guest ?

“Invited guest.”

“I was invited.” 

“In service to House Martell.” 

“I suppose it was an invite but I’m here in service to my King.” 

did you attend both the coronation & the feast ?

“I did. I enjoyed my time.”

“I attended the coronation, came to the feast.” 

“Yes.” 

“No, I was standing on the wall and then I came for food.”

if so , can you account for your whereabouts prior &  during  the  attempted  poisoning  of  queen  freyja  &  king  edrik ? can anyone verify this account ?

“Many of my men can confirm that I was in the hall the entire night.” 

“I went to the glass gardens, I think Lord Quentin Tyrell was there. I was quite drunk.” 

“I was in the hall, someone saw me, ask arond.” 

“I can’t. Sorry. I got drunk and. think I followed a serving woman into a closet.” 

did you see , hear , or overhear anything suspicious that might be useful in the investigation ?

“If I did I would have brought them to my father immediately.”

“I heard that assassins don’t talk about their deeds.” 

“No.” 

“If I knew I would have charged you for the answer.” 

what motive might someone have for setting  the  maesters  tower  ablaze ?

“To throw everyone off.”

“Because Maesters smell funny.” 

“Distraction.” 

Valarr smirked, “maybe they were cold.” 

do you believe these attacks were / will be an isolated incident ? explain.

“Of course not. Someone planned this, someone wants to cause a war and i don’t know why.”

No one would go through all of this for a one time kick. Has to be the beginning of a plan.” 

“Someone else will be attacked, it’s only a matter of time.” 

“Seeing as the assassin failed, I imagine no one is safe.” 

who  do  you  believe  to  be  responsible  for  the  late  king  stark’s  murder ?

“Whoever tried to kill the King and Queen.”

“The dead Maester.” 

“I don’t speculate. It’s dangerous.” 

“Maybe it was you.” 

if you were asked to lay blame upon one of the houses, who would you hold responsible for such a heinous acts ?

“Greyjoys.”

“Starks.” 

“It could be anyone. I hope you find them before I do.” 

“Starks.” 

is  there  any  other  information  of  note  to  share  with  the  inquisitor ? no one has anything sassy to say. 

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

Well, well, would you look at that? I somehow started this today and managed to complete this oneshot in a day too. Must have been really motivated for this story or at least, to get this prompt finished for the @naruto-fantasy-week event that’s still taking place until the 21st. I have feelings I’d like to dive more into the plot and world I created for this fic because there’s a lot of story ideas brimming with possibilities. :D

Title derives from the lyrics of “Bedroom Hymns” by Florence+the Machine.

There’s a tiny bit of gore from battle mentioned in the beginning of the fic but it’s not explicit. 

Summary: When the lesser gods and power-hungry mortals slew several of the Old Gods to gain their strength, the world erupted into chaos and many of the surviving Old Gods went into hiding. The world did not fare better with the newer gods and soon enough, Godkillers were either born or shaped to give humanity a fighting chance. Who would have expected an experienced, antisocial Godkiller was bored enough to escort and protect an young Old God from those who’d either kill or use her to steal and harness her powers? Naruto Fantasy Week, Day 3. Prompt: Old Gods. [Sasori x Sakura] 

Text: 

Thoughts  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Take one step towards the gods and they will take ten steps towards you.”

— Joseph Campbell, Mythologist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sinking his blade deep into the enemy before him, Sasori gave the weapon one final twist, feeling the man’s flesh stretch and rend even wider and deeper before he abruptly and forcefully yanked out the sword out, blood squirting out of the gaping wound and splashing across his gloves, arms, and face. The man clutched his open gash, uttering nothing save for a few gurgles, and topped over, face first, and a pool of fresh blood soon formed around him. 

That’s the last of them.

Wiping the scarlet droplets from his scimitar on the corpse’s tunic, Sasori turned around to look for his employer who chased after several archers who concealed themselves in a brush up on a small hill. She was the one who charged him to help her to escort her to the Pearl Sea, where there supposedly was a ship waiting for her to take her to the fabled ‘Himmelsreiche’ , home of the Old Gods. Or what was left of them. 

Sakura was his employer’s name, her brilliant pink hair most likely the contributor to her name. Weeks ago, she approached him with a job, an easy one that consisted of a simple escort mission to bring her to the banks of Pearl Sea and deal with any miscreants who wished her harm. While she didn’t delve more into detail why she might be beset by people who were more than run-of-the-mill brigands, Sasori didn’t need to press the matter. He knew exactly who she was. An Old God, or at least, the surviving offspring of them. His eyes, a mere brown hue, had the gift to see the aura of other beings, human or no, and the auras of gods, Old or lesser, were far more luminescence and stronger than mere humans. Sakura’s aura was red, the same color his vibrant hair, and her essence brimmed with untold, untapped power. 

He wondered why she, an Old God, went to him, an infamous Godkiller who never bothered with slaying the Old Gods, for assistance. He had a few theories. On the run from other Godkillers who were either overzealous in their mission to eradicate all gods, be it lesser or the original ones, or they simply desired to use a god’s power for their own devices. Or there was the lesser gods, who were caught between vanquishing the rest of the gold gods, whom they resented for being in power and adored by the masses for so long, and the humans who eventually declared their unearthly rule corrupt and tyrannical and trained many of their own become Godkillers for the express purpose of hunting all the lesser gods down and putting them to justice. A young Old God like Sakura would be just the power boost they need in order to maintain their malign reign over the human population.  

But he didn’t care about her story so Sasori never asked. So he took her payment and off they travelled, gaining as much ground as they could in the daylight and when night blanketed the sky with twinkling stars, an illuminating moon, and a sky containing a dark velvet blue hue, they either sought shelter in taverns or camped outside. However, despite their meticulous measures to remain careful and conceal their presence from others, Sakura’s aura was like a beacon to those who wished her harm or to cage her so she’d be easier to subdue and channel her godly powers for their own purpose, for good or ill. Sasori already lost track of how many rival Godkillers (if you could hardly call a couple of green, stupid boys with dreams of glory and a beautiful death, or uppity, sanctimonious men and woman who could fight but never experienced true battle with an experienced, seasoned Godkiller and an Old God was still young but no less dangerous) or lackeys of lesser gods he slew without remorse or hesitation.

Sakura surprised him with her fighting prowess and willingness to hold her own in a battle, having rapid reflexes to swiftly switch from being defensive to taking the offensive. Not all the gods were warriors and despite her appearance radiating almost soft or unsuspecting charm, he learned from their very first battle that she had the strength to produce earthquakes by merely stomping or punching down on the ground long enough to create such colossal damages. She was skilled enough to keep up with him in spars or actual combat and much to his annoyance, saved his life a couple of times, either due to her superhuman strength, the ability to manipulate the earth to her will, or from her uncanny ability to heal almost injury, even if poison was embedded in the muscle or already entered the victim’s bloodstreams. 

One day he’ll create a poison not even she, an Old God, could heal.

“The archers won’t trouble us anymore,” Sakura announced grimly, sweat glistening off her wide brow. “There was also a scout observing our movements so I had to take care of him as well. Like the archers, he’s buried six feet under.”

Sasori smirked, recalling the distant screams he heard earlier when he effortlessly sliced off  one of the attacker’s head before whirling around to deliver two deep, perfect crisscrossing slashes across the soldier sneaking up behind him. Those horrific yells nearby provoked him to press on, to finish every single last bastard the lesser god Danzo continued to sic on them, time after time. Out of all the lesser gods that issued their own soldiers and trusted allies to hunt down Sakura and capture her, Danzo was the most persistent. He was also the god Sakura loathed the most.

“Efficient. None of them will be able to run back to their master and report about how your powers are growing.” Sasori remarked casually, sheathing his scimitar. He bent over to check the dead men’s belongings for anything of value and managed to uncover several pouches of gold. Sakura turned over two similar small bags of coins as well as a crinkled scroll, the golden seal broken.

“I found this message on the scout before I killed him. It seems both Danzo and Hanzo have joined together for an alliance. And placed an enormous bounty on your head.” 

Sasori frowned, thoroughly irked at the notion of eventually having to also deal with avarice or foolish bounty hunters hounding their every waking step in hopes to take down an actual Godkiller. “It sounds like we’ll have to double our pace if we want to make it harder for the two of them to trace us. We should leave this place as soon as possible.”

Sakura nodded her head in agreement. “Just let me bury the bodies first.” Palms facing down, Sakura’s emerald gaze was focused on the ground beneath their feet. Instinctively, Sasori took a step behind her and let her carry on with her work. The earth shifted and pulled itself apart from Sakura’s command, cracks forming into huge, gaping chasms to swallow the five carcasses as well as wiping away any remnants of Sasori’s gruesome battle. Then, the massive holes in the ground smoothly patched themselves up, the earth advancing upward to straighten the land up until soil,rocks, and grass soon littered the area once more. There was not even a speck of blood to hint what just transpired here over ten minutes ago.

“Are you hurt, Sasori?” Sakura queried once she was finished. 

He dismissed her concern by turning away and untied the reins of their horses, doing his utmost best to ignore the irritated, unhappy stare she was no doubt sending him. “I’m fine. None of them landed a hit on me.”

“You’re wrong.” Just like that, Sakura was at his side, gripping his arm and pushing the sleeve back, revealing jagged gash no longer than a mouse’s tail. “What do you call that?”

“A scratch. Now, get on the horse so we can resume our travels.” 

Ire flashed in Sakura’s eyes, spreading to her visage as her lips twisted into a scowl. “What that is a possible infection. Let me heal you–and that cut on your cheek.”

Disagreeing with her when it came to healing was futile but Sasori continued to protest, although the scolding died in his throat soon after as one of Sakura’s hands rest over the slash on his forearm, a warm, soothing sage green glow flowing from her fingers and palm, almost creating a small dome that isolated his wound before simultaneously disinfecting it and knitting his skin back together. And then almost immediately, the very same hand cupped his cheek, right where the supposed cut was located and the welcoming verdant light returned, bathing Sasori in warmth once more. 

Yet it wasn’t the tranquil sensation of Sakura’s curative abilities that caused Sasori’s blood to boil and transform in fire, or delivered tingling, shooting frissions up and down his spine and other areas of his body (which was damn well infuriating), or had every beat of his heart speed up in a rapid crescendo. When he took the escort job, Sasori imagined it was a simple ‘point A to point B’ mission with a little bit of carnage thrown in. The mere prospect of experiencing even a modicum of romantic feelings for his employer would be absolutely ludicrous. And yet here he was, unable to tear his gaze away from Sakura’s concentrated but thoughtful expression, her eyes darting between his healing cut and being caught in his heated stare, if her blushing cheeks were anything to go by.

What seemed like ages, Sakura finally removed her hand from his cheek but there was an air of reluctance as she did so. “Please, be more careful, Sasori. You have already gotten yourself injured several times on my behalf and if any of your wounds became mortal, I wouldn’t be able to heal you.” She glanced away, some locks of her light rose colored hair obscuring her face from him. “I don’t know how I’d react if you were truly gone from this world.”

Cocking his head, Sasori reached out to grasp her chin and pull her head back to face him so their knowing gazes would collide once more and at last, come to terms with the all tension and emotions brimming between them. How long have they ignored the fact there was a spark, a flare of attraction blossoming between them? Far too long, their bodies and hearts would say. 

Sasori dipped his head in, saying nothing. His eyes would do all the talking.

In response, Sakura leaned forward, her hands gripping his black cloak for support even as his other arm wrapped itself around her waist. Their noses bumped into each other, awkward and soft. Yet Sakura merely smiled and closed her eyes just as Sasori tilted his head to plant his mouth over that subtle dimple on her check, right before trailing over to claim a kiss from her beckoning lips.

By the time they were back on their horses and riding to the next town, both of their mouths were kiss swollen, Sakura’s neck was already sporting a vivid bite mark red as a peony, and Sasori’s chest was aching from the scratches Sakura left behind when she snaked one of her hands underneath his cloak and shirt to give him a taste of her teasing nature. Sakura was practically glowing at the new development of their relationship while Sasori kept his focus on the horizon, towards the direction of the Pearl Sea, all the while unconsciously brushing his thumb over his bottom lip, recalling the moment where Sakura first nibbled, then sucked on that particular spot during their second to last kiss. 

They were going to check into the first inn he saw and once they were settled in, he was going to give Sakura a matching bite mark on the other side of her neck. After all, in the age of gods, waning or no, paying tribute to the god of your choice was necessary to receive any blessings in return. And Sasori recognized quite quickly how much he enjoyed Sakura’s blessings. She was his god and he was her guardian, the protector of her temple. And no Godkiller or lesser god, regardless of their strength or reach, would tear them asunder.    

[inforapound]

Albatross Chapter 1

Summary -  Leaving the security of a lonely life, a young woman heads out into the universe in search of a colony of like-minded beings. The Mandalorian, a lone-wolf, intergalactic bounty hunter reluctantly finds himself drawn to her, challenging his resolve and way of life.

Pairing - Mando x OC     Words - 2,400       Ask to be tagged

Warnings - fluff, explicit love scenes, there will be series inaccuracies

Don’t look at anyone, don’t draw attention, just find a seat and wait for the man they call Greef Karga.

The bar was a dingy little place but everything appeared to be in this armpit of a city. Moving further into the low lit, adobe-like building, the strange, unfamiliar sounds of foreign languages confused my ears. The place was fairly busy, smelled of something fermented and was filled with species I could not have ever imagined. Behind the murmur was a low repetitive beat with some high pitch, melodic whistle, I assumed was a style of ambient music. The feeling of panic, I continued to ignore, was settling at the bottom of my stomach, feeling cold and tasting sour. I had been in this place, this slum planet called Nevarro for less than an hour and I was already terrified I had made a grave error.

I needed transport though. A way out and off and was told by the courier who had responded to my beacon, that this Mr. Karga was my best chance. Apparently, he was a businessman of sorts, well connected with access to ships.

The bag over my shoulder was weighed down with my parent’s life savings, and I could only hope a ride to a more habitable, civilized planet would not cost as much as my journey here. Having never had actual employment before, my chance at a life, survival even, depended on that ride. Everything was different now, and despite being surrounded by others, I felt more on my own than I had in all my years of isolation.

Squeezing my duffel bag against my side, I approached the bar, choosing one of the stools, chancing that it was the safest place to wait and watch. Sliding in, I couldn’t help but make eye contact with the…… being beside me. Possibly some species of Verpine, his large deep red eyes were opaque making it impossible to tell where he was actually looking.

Being raised alone by my parents, their years of tutoring, tales, and descriptions of other races, species,  religions and civilizations, nothing could have prepared me for this. Knowing just did not compare to experiencing. My family had been the sole inhabitants on a remote planet, other than the plentiful species of animals, fish, and birds, insects big and small. Being born there, I had never been off or met another person, until today.

My father had been a soldier for the Galactic Empire. One of the last true machinists on the planet of Naboo, he had been called to fight with no option of refusal. Meeting my mother on the Force, she was an agricultural scientist but had been assigned to the Imperial Army in the field of research, working on some hushed bio-warfare program.

When my mother became pregnant with me, they made a run for it, taking a well stocked ship, and hiding on the little known planet Ithor. It had been a good life and reflecting on it now, I realized how hard they had worked, every day, preparing me for my future alone. They passed away within months of each other. Mom developed a sickness that caused great pain in her lungs and her blood to thin. When dad fell ill from a simple infection, he held on as long as he could for my sake. When he did finally succumb, it was devastating but a relief.

The first year had been manageable, passing the days, months by compulsively planting, preparing tinctures and restocking stores. By the third year alone, I wondered what the point of living was at all. Unfortunately for me, I had never learned to fly and the ship hadn't been operational since my parent’s arrival twenty-six years earlier. The thought of triggering the ship’s alert beacon consumed my mind for weeks. Part of me knows I flipped that switch just to catch a break from thinking about it any longer. It was the ultimate roll of the dice, not knowing who or what would respond.

“Watch yourself!” a man’s voice called from further down on the bar.

Snapping my head in that direction, I saw an armored man, face hidden by a helmet, his gloved hand pointing beyond me to my far side. Looking over, I jumped seeing a sharp, insectoid-like arm extending toward my side from the hard-shelled body of that same guy with the dark red eyes, sitting two stools away.

“Hey!” I barked, yanking my bag away from him and into my lap.

The thing’s claw-like arm contracted back, and he turned toward me, the jagged pincers on his face oscillating, making a disgusting clicking sound. Why had I sounded that beacon?

Sliding off my stool, I backed away, glaring at the creature and rounded the half-moon shaped bar, taking a seat one over from the helmeted man.

“Thanks,” I uttered as I shifted onto the stool but he gave no response.

The droid tending the bar noticed the commotion and glided over, swiveling his bucket head in my direction, waiting.

“Do you have Lomin?” I asked, knowing I would be more welcome to wait if there was a drink in front of me.

“Credits first,” he blurted back and I assumed that was because of the type of patrons that frequented the place.

Pulling a black sack out of the top of my duffel bag, I shook two five-credit chits into my hand, holding them out to the droid.

“On the bar,” the droid ordered.

Placing them down, I slid them forward.

“Only one,” the helmeted man spoke out, his voice crackling through some type of voice box. Still, he did not look in my direction.

Glancing at the droid, I picked up one of the chits and returned it to my sack. Collecting the payment, the android glided away, returning quickly with a large cup of frothy amber-colored drink. Bringing it to my nose, I sniffed, my face twisting with revulsion. Taking a small sip, the taste was even worse. This was not the same ale we made at home.

“Not what you expected?” the man asked, his head now titled down as if he was checking something on the floor.  

“Ahh, no. It's sweet. Different recipe, perhaps. I’m not from here.”

“No shit,” he said in an even voice and I thought his sarcasm could use some work.

Looking over at him, I didn’t attempt to hide my unimpressed reaction.

“Just being in here, you don’t know, what you don’t even know.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“I’m waiting for someone, so….”

Saying nothing further, the man sat as still as stone. He, too, seemed to be waiting. It hadn’t been a smoking hot day but warm enough that I imagined his heavy, dark metal armor must have been uncomfortable. With no beverage in front of him, I wondered why he wasn’t drinking something like everyone else in the place. What could that mean?

“Are you Greef Karga?”

That got his attention. Helmet swiveling in my direction, he looked like one of those droids with the spinning heads.

“That is who you are here for?”

“So, you are not him,” bringing my drink to my lips, I took a sip, hoping the second taste wouldn’t be as bad. No luck, it was still vile.  

“What is your business with Karga?”

“Not your concern,” I replied, steadying my face, realizing I truly had no idea where I was or how much danger I was in.

“You're right,” he said quietly. Placing his gloved hands onto the bar, he slid back off the stool, flicking his cape as to not get it caught. Passing behind me, he halted to a stop, “Keep that sack of credits hidden…carry a few in your pocket… in case.” Without another word, he carried on, walking stiffly out the door.  

A quarter of the drink was all I could manage but I was dehydrated after the long day of travel. Patrons had come and gone but from where I sat, it was hard to keep watch without blatantly turning around. No one else had attempted to talk to me and for that I was grateful. Still, there was no relaxing. Every time I thought about leaving the bar and heading out into the streets, I gripped my bag a little tighter.

A loud yelp cut through the low chatter and without thinking I turned to look. The sound of tin cups tumbling to the ground was followed by a thud as a dark-skinned man with a black mustache slammed the head of a guy sitting across the booth from him down onto the table. The young guy’s cheek was pinned and he held his hands up as if to signal surrender. Scanning the room, the others ignored the display, telling me that people getting roughed up was either a regular occurrence or the man doing the roughing was too dangerous to get caught looking at.

“Please!” the guy cried, his hands trembling, the older man gazing down, expressionless, as if used to inflicting this kind of torment. “Please Greef! I’ll get the payment, I swear!”

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, I was out of there. Hugging my bag like a blankie, I pushed off the stool, leaving my putrid drink and headed for the exit. Keeping a calm pace, the last thing I needed was to draw attention. If that was Greef Karga, I was not taking my chances that he would listen to the story of a twenty-something-year-old orphan, looking for transport to a place where she might find work on a farm. I had heard about human trafficking and forced servitude, the sex trade and I was not sticking around, regardless if that guy had one ship or a hundred.

Out into the dusty street, I re-positioned my bag over my shoulder and walked further into the industrial shit hole. Despite blending into the crowded street, my vulnerability felt glaring and my fear was taking hold.

The cargo pilot had told me about a place that offered space to those passing through. Trudging on, I looked for the large structure built with blue containers with a black circle painted on the door. I could feel the eyes of those around me, tracking my movements, even stepping into my path to perhaps test my response. Biting the tip of my tongue, I scowled and filled my lungs with air, grateful, I was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved top.

There it was! The blue rusty building that stood a little higher than the metal and stone shacks on either side. The place looked like it had suffered a thousand sand storms but the black blotch on the hatch style door did make my feet move a little faster.

“Whatever you are looking for, it’s not in there.” A man’s voice came from behind. Not wanting to mix further with the locals, I ignored it and kept walking.”

“Stop,” it called out with authority and my elbow was tugged back. Snatching my arm away, I spun, ready to plant my knee into a groin.

Lowering his hand to his side, the helmeted man stood before me like he had been dropped out of the sky. Had he been following me this whole time? Had he waited outside the bar?

“What do you want?”

“I tried minding my own business but….you shouldn’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not for lodging.”

Saying nothing, I tightened my grip on my bag.

“Why?”

“There are beds but…they’re not for sleeping.”

“Oh,” my head shot back. “Okay.” Glancing down at the ground between us, I bit the end of my tongue, fearing my chin might start to tremble. This was bad. Clearing my throat, I looked back up, picking the black cross at the center of his helmet to focus on. “Where would one go if they were looking for transport?”

“Transport? Is that why you were looking for Karga?”

Nodding, I cleared my throat again, realizing I was the quintessential babe in the woods.

The man said nothing, but he seemed to look beyond my shoulder, his large helmet subtly shaking as if answering my question was a hassle. He may have only been the second person I had ever met but I could tell he was cursing himself for stopping me.  

“Do you have a ship?” I asked, not giving him the chance to blow me off. “I need to get somewhere that I can find work.”

Looking back down at me, he seemed to just stare. What was taking him so long to answer? It was painful! I hadn’t pestered him, he was the one who stopped me, followed me through the streets. Despite that and the large weapon on his back, I wasn’t afraid of him. Yes, I was the last person to be able to accurately gauge one’s character by their appearance or body language but his warnings, his reluctant advice, none of it felt like a ploy.  

“Look, I am a farmer. I’m fairly handy and I’m quiet. I have a little money and I can sleep in a ball on the floor. Do you have a ship with room for me? I’m hoping to make it to Dantoonie or somewhere there are colonies that grow food.”

“Two hundred and fifty credits and I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“Two hundred and fifty?” my brows shot high with surprise. “Okay.” What choice did I have?

Swiftly turning, he began to walk away; springing forward, I rushed to keep up.

“Can I ask a question?”

As if I hadn’t spoken, he carried on, stalking through the streets, a couple of side allies, arriving at a fenced yard filled with, what I could see, was a dozen or so ships.

“Listen,” he spun around, standing still as a wall and I lurched to a stop to avoid running into him. “You just agreed to pay double what anyone would pay for travel. I don’t know who you are, or where you are from, but you are going to bring heat down on yourself and me. We will leave in a couple of hours. Until then, get in and stay quiet. Keep your money hidden. No talking to anyone or walking around looking like...” lifting his gloved hand, he flicked his orange-tipped fingers at me…“that.”

Eyes flashing wide, I froze, watching him turn and duck through a cut out in the wire fence, dipping carefully to clear the handle of his gun. Following behind, I stopped myself from asking any one of the dozen questions bouncing around in my head. From what I could tell, this conversation alliterate, gun-toting, armored, stiff walking, helmet-wearing man was my only hope. I was not going to piss him off any more than I apparently already had.

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 1

standin' on the platform, watching you go

summary:  what if riza never went to war?  riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: no archive warning apply

prologue | read on ao3

1908

 standin' on the platform, watching you go

it's like no other pain i've ever known

“Roy?” Riza whispered into their dark bedroom. The mood of the day had been solemn. Tomorrow he was going off to war, to fight in Ishval. The State Alchemists had been called up and he was being shipped out at six o’clock tomorrow morning. It was currently pushing midnight and they only had five or so more hours left in bed together. Riza didn’t want to waste a second, and neither did he. That’s why, when they’d retired that night, they simply lay in silence, his arm slung around her waist, saying nothing, simply enjoying the other’s company.

He hummed in acknowledge, his face burying further into her hair. A wave of sadness washed over her at the thought this would be their last night together for a long time.

Or forever.

Riza shifted, banishing the thought from her mind. She couldn’t afford to think like that. The arm around her waist tightened, his hand lifting to rest over her stomach. A small smile graced her lips.

“I went to see the doctor today,” she began. His hand stilled, head lifting from the pillow. It was the first time he’d moved in hours, save for the odd shift in position so he could close the distance between them.

“Why?” he asked, worried. He was propped up on his elbow, the mattress shifting as he leaned over her. “Are you okay?”

Riza nodded in the darkness. His hand left her stomach, moving to her hair, brushing it away from her face and neck. He placed a kiss on her bare shoulder. In the darkness, she would have jumped had it been anyone else, but they’d been together for so long now that she felt attuned to his every move. They’d only been married six months but Riza had been in love with him for years.

“What’s wrong then?” he asked, his lips moving across her shoulder and up to her neck. A quiet sigh left her from his ministrations. There was the temptation to let him continue, allowing them both to forget about his departure in a few hours, but this was news that needed to be shared. She couldn’t drop the bomb when he was about to leave on the train, and they’d been so busy getting organised that evening, ensuring Riza would be well looked after by organising money to be transferred to the correct bank account before Roy left. They’d been in the bank for two hours trying to get their situation sorted out. Then, they returned home for dinner and got caught up in what happened afterwards. Riza smiled at the memory, Roy holding her close while music played in their living room of their apartment in East City, two bodies swaying in time as they enjoyed their final evening together. Both trying to forget what the early hours of the next morning would bring. She’d been so lost in the moment that all thoughts had left her. All she knew was his hand on her lower back, hands holding her tenderly, and the side of her head resting against his cheek.

There was brief thought that occurred to her. Knowing Roy, he felt guilty about leaving her behind already. If she held off on the news, then she wouldn’t add to that guilt already present, and when he returned home, he would be in for a hell of a surprise.

But she couldn’t do that to him. It would be grossly unfair and, if she was being honest with herself, she'd explode if she held it in any longer. Riza needed to get the news out.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered into the darkness. Riza held her breath as he processed her words.

“You’re… pregnant?” He breathed the word as if it was sacred.

“Yes,” she whispered, rolling over to face him. In the dim light she could still make out the outline of his face. A hand rose to cup his cheek, and Riza smiled, eyes wet.

“How… When?” Riza could see the cogs in his mind working overtime, moving too fast for his mouth to keep up.

“I’m six weeks along.”

“I… Riza,” he breathed, bundling her into his arms. Riza clung to him, arms snaking around his neck and pulling him close against her. “I can’t believe it.” Despite the happiness there was a lingering sadness in there, because of course, he was leaving in the morning, and didn’t know when he would return to them. His breath hitched and she felt tears fall against her bare skin. “Oh my god.”

They lay in silence, both crying quietly in their happiness. Their family was about to grow, and she couldn’t be happier.

“I’m not letting you go for the rest of the night,” he murmured against her neck. “I can’t now. I hope you’re okay with that.”

She smiled. “That’s fine by me,” she replied.

*          *          *

At the train station just before six o’clock that morning, Riza rose onto her tiptoes, giving her husband a quick peck on the cheek. They’d already had their emotional farewell last night and in the morning before breakfast. The lamplight illuminated them both, the dawn just struggling to peek over the horizon. The lack of light wasn’t a problem for Riza. Roy was the light of her entire life, his smile brightening up any room, his love a beacon. She felt as if she could see for miles with him by her side.

“Come back to us,” she whispered in his ear.

Roy didn’t let her pull away, opting to drop his case and wrap his arms around her tightly. His lips crushed against hers with such desperation she whimpered into it. Their faces crumpled, unwilling for this moment to end.

But it did, rudely, by the sound of the conductor blowing his whistle as he called the two-minute warning for the train’s departure. They broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other. Her hands rose to his upper arms, clutching them tightly, desperately. She supported him every step of the way. This was what he wanted to do with his life and Riza would never hold him back from that. Now the moment was here... She never wanted to let him go. Her fingers dug into his arms tightly, as if her touch alone could anchor him in place, keeping him by her side, rather than traveling hundreds of miles to the front.

Her mouth parted to speak. Riza knew she'd regret saying those words, but nothing could stop her. Don't go. Don't leave me. It was in impulse. However, she didn't get very far. Roy beat her to it.

“I promise, I’ll come back. To you, I will always return.” His hand splayed over her stomach and Riza pulled him into a fierce hug.

“I’ll hold you to that, Roy Mustang,” she whispered with a quiet, emotionally charged laugh.

“I’m counting on it, Riza Mustang.”

Riza smiled, eyes threatening to spill over. She pulled away, nodding, and looking up at him. Her smile wobbled on her face and was unable to say anymore. If she did, she would crack. If her mouth opened, she'd beg him not to leave. She'd get down on her knees right there. Don't leave me alone. I don't want to be alone again. After experiencing Roy's love, she never wanted to lose it. How would she sleep at night with him absent from her side? How would she relax without him stroking her arm or her hair? How would she feel safe and loved without Roy to tell her, to whisper it in her ear as she drifted off?

She was in no way useless by herself. She'd been by herself her whole life, but these last few months had given her a taste of love and company. She didn't want to go back to isolation. She couldn't.

As the train pulled away, she couldn’t help but feel crushing loneliness creep up on her. She truly was lucky to be loved by Roy, but now she’d had a taste of it, had enjoyed it every day for six months without interruption, she never wanted to let it go. Every day they’d shared had been a gift, but Riza had still felt their happiness was creeping closer and closer to an end.

This was that feeling. Roy going off to war.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back. That was the nature of war, wasn’t it? Breaking up families, destroying those who survived it… Her stomach clenched at the thought of what condition Roy would return home in.

If he returns at all.

His body could return, but would his mind?

If only she could join and watch his back, like she promised to do as a child.

A hand rose instinctively to her stomach.

No, she couldn’t go after him. She had to protect their child instead. A surge of sadness and panic washed over her at the thought of facing all of this alone, but she would manage. She’d had a tough life already. This would be no different from how she’d handled those previous situations. Hell, once she'd fallen after repairing something in her father's house, catching her arm and cutting it, quite deep. Her father had ignored her cries for help, her tears, so she'd calmed herself down and searched her mother's old books - the ones she'd hidden in her bedroom - and managed to crudely patch herself up temporarily until she could leave the house and someone could help. That was the moment she realised her father truly didn't care about her. She'd never felt so alone.

However… Riza's face fell, her bravado slipping with it. She was still young. She was eighteen-years old, pregnant, and left to deal with it on her own as her husband disappeared out of view on a train that may just be taking him towards certain death.

“Was that your husband?” a brunette asked her. She was about five paces away on the platform, staring after the train just like Riza, her face tight.

Riza nodded. “Yes.” Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears.

“My brother,” the woman gestured after the train. She too was dressed in military blues, and yet, she wasn’t aboard the train? “Rebecca Catalina,” she greeted, offering Riza a hand.

“Riza Mustang.”

“Nice to meet you. It seems we are both left stranded here while they go off to war, huh?” Riza glanced at her military uniform again, unable to help herself. “I’m still in the academy,” Rebecca explained. “They wouldn’t let me go out there, even if I asked. No use for a cadet out there, not even as cannon fodder, now that the State Alchemists are going in.” She took a deep breath, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Apparently this will turn the war around for us.”

Riza nodded. She just wanted Roy to return home to her in one piece.

Rebecca eyed the hand still on her stomach, a wry smile on her face. “When are you expecting?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, I just found out yesterday.”

Rebecca barked a quiet laugh. “Such is life, huh? You find out you’re going to have a kid and he gets shipped off to war.” She shook her head.

“Roy always says there has to be equivalent exchange for everything,” Riza added, a sad smile on her face. She didn’t want to exchange her husband for her child. She wanted them both safe and happy beside her.

“A State Alchemist?” Rebecca whistled. Riza felt dread pool in her stomach. She was just about to ask what she meant before Rebecca jerked her head towards the street. “Come on, it’s too dark for you to walk home alone. I’ll give you a lift. Have you had breakfast yet? I know a lovely little diner that opens at six am. It’s not far from here.”

Her life may have just gotten a little darker with Roy gone, but there was a new light growing insider her – their child – and this woman’s kindness had just added to that spark of hope.

She could only hope things worked out for them in the end.

[whore4pedro]

Albatross Chapter 1

A/N - I just started this blog last night so let me know if you’d like to be tagged.

Summary -  Leaving the security of a lonely life, a young woman heads out into the universe in search of a colony of like-minded beings. The Mandalorian, a lone-wolf, intergalactic bounty hunter reluctantly finds himself drawn to her, challenging his resolve and way of life. 

Pairing - Mando x OC     Words - 2,400  

Warnings - fluff, explicit love scenes, canon divergent 

Don’t look at anyone, don’t draw attention, just find a seat and wait for the man they call Greef Karga.

The bar was a dingy little place but everything appeared to be in this armpit of a city. Moving further into the low lit, adobe-like building, the strange, unfamiliar sounds of foreign languages confused my ears. The place was fairly busy, smelled of something fermented and was filled with species I could not have ever imagined. Behind the murmur was a low repetitive beat with some high pitch, melodic whistle, I assumed was a style of ambient music. The feeling of panic, I continued to ignore, was settling at the bottom of my stomach, feeling cold and tasting sour. I had been in this place, this slum planet called Nevarro for less than an hour and I was already terrified I had made a grave error.

I needed transport though. A way out and off and was told by the courier who had responded to my beacon, that this Mr. Karga was my best chance. Apparently, he was a businessman of sorts, well connected with access to ships.

The bag over my shoulder was weighed down with my parent’s life savings, and I could only hope a ride to a more habitable, civilized planet would not cost as much as my journey here. Having never had actual employment before, my chance at a life, survival even, depended on that ride. Everything was different now, and despite being surrounded by others, I felt more on my own than I had in all my years of isolation.

Squeezing my duffel bag against my side, I approached the bar, choosing one of the stools, chancing that it was the safest place to wait and watch. Sliding in, I couldn’t help but make eye contact with the…… being beside me. Possibly some species of Verpine, his large deep red eyes were opaque making it impossible to tell where he was actually looking.

Being raised alone by my parents, their years of tutoring, tales, and descriptions of other races, species,  religions and civilizations, nothing could have prepared me for this. Knowing just did not compare to experiencing. My family had been the sole inhabitants on a remote planet, other than the plentiful species of animals, fish, and birds, insects big and small. Being born there, I had never been off or met another person, until today.

My father had been a soldier for the Galactic Empire. One of the last true machinists on the planet of Naboo, he had been called to fight with no option of refusal. Meeting my mother on the Force, she was an agricultural scientist but had been assigned to the Imperial Army in the field of research, working on some hushed bio-warfare program.

When my mother became pregnant with me, they made a run for it, taking a well stocked ship, and hiding on the little known planet Ithor. It had been a good life and reflecting on it now, I realized how hard they had worked, every day, preparing me for my future alone. They passed away within months of each other. Mom developed a sickness that caused great pain in her lungs and her blood to thin. When dad fell ill from a simple infection, he held on as long as he could for my sake. When he did finally succumb, it was devastating but a relief.

The first year had been manageable, passing the days, months by compulsively planting, preparing tinctures and restocking stores. By the third year alone, I wondered what the point of living was at all. Unfortunately for me, I had never learned to fly and the ship hadn't been operational since my parent’s arrival twenty-six years earlier. The thought of triggering the ship’s alert beacon consumed my mind for weeks. Part of me knows I flipped that switch just to catch a break from thinking about it any longer. It was the ultimate roll of the dice, not knowing who or what would respond.

“Watch yourself!” a man’s voice called from further down on the bar.

Snapping my head in that direction, I saw an armored man, face hidden by a helmet, his gloved hand pointing beyond me to my far side. Looking over, I jumped seeing a sharp, insectoid-like arm extending toward my side from the hard-shelled body of that same guy with the dark red eyes, sitting two stools away.

“Hey!” I barked, yanking my bag away from him and into my lap.

The thing’s claw-like arm contracted back, and he turned toward me, the jagged pincers on his face oscillating, making a disgusting clicking sound. Why had I sounded that beacon?

Sliding off my stool, I backed away, glaring at the creature and rounded the half-moon shaped bar, taking a seat one over from the helmeted man.

“Thanks,” I uttered as I shifted onto the stool but he gave no response.

The droid tending the bar noticed the commotion and glided over, swiveling his bucket head in my direction, waiting.

“Do you have Lomin?” I asked, knowing I would be more welcome to wait if there was a drink in front of me.

“Credits first,” he blurted back and I assumed that was because of the type of patrons that frequented the place.

Pulling a black sack out of the top of my duffel bag, I shook two five-credit chits into my hand, holding them out to the droid.

“On the bar,” the droid ordered.

Placing them down, I slid them forward.

“Only one,” the helmeted man spoke out, his voice crackling through some type of voice box. Still, he did not look in my direction.

Glancing at the droid, I picked up one of the chits and returned it to my sack. Collecting the payment, the android glided away, returning quickly with a large cup of frothy amber-colored drink. Bringing it to my nose, I sniffed, my face twisting with revulsion. Taking a small sip, the taste was even worse. This was not the same ale we made at home.

“Not what you expected?” the man asked, his head now titled down as if he was checking something on the floor.  

“Ahh, no. It's sweet. Different recipe, perhaps. I’m not from here.”

“No shit,” he said in an even voice and I thought his sarcasm could use some work.

Looking over at him, I didn’t attempt to hide my unimpressed reaction.

“Just being in here, you don’t know, what you don’t even know.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

“I’m waiting for someone, so….”

Saying nothing further, the man sat as still as stone. He, too, seemed to be waiting. It hadn’t been a smoking hot day but warm enough that I imagined his heavy, dark metal armor must have been uncomfortable. With no beverage in front of him, I wondered why he wasn’t drinking something like everyone else in the place. What could that mean?

“Are you Greef Karga?”

That got his attention. Helmet swiveling in my direction, he looked like one of those droids with the spinning heads.

“That is who you are here for?”

“So, you are not him,” bringing my drink to my lips, I took a sip, hoping the second taste wouldn’t be as bad. No luck, it was still vile.  

“What is your business with Karga?”

“Not your concern,” I replied, steadying my face, realizing I truly had no idea where I was or how much danger I was in.

“You're right,” he said quietly. Placing his gloved hands onto the bar, he slid back off the stool, flicking his cape as to not get it caught. Passing behind me, he halted to a stop, “Keep that sack of credits hidden…carry a few in your pocket… in case.” Without another word, he carried on, walking stiffly out the door.  

A quarter of the drink was all I could manage but I was dehydrated after the long day of travel. Patrons had come and gone but from where I sat, it was hard to keep watch without blatantly turning around. No one else had attempted to talk to me and for that I was grateful. Still, there was no relaxing. Every time I thought about leaving the bar and heading out into the streets, I gripped my bag a little tighter.

A loud yelp cut through the low chatter and without thinking I turned to look. The sound of tin cups tumbling to the ground was followed by a thud as a dark-skinned man with a black mustache slammed the head of a guy sitting across the booth from him down onto the table. The young guy’s cheek was pinned and he held his hands up as if to signal surrender. Scanning the room, the others ignored the display, telling me that people getting roughed up was either a regular occurrence or the man doing the roughing was too dangerous to get caught looking at.

“Please!” the guy cried, his hands trembling, the older man gazing down, expressionless, as if used to inflicting this kind of torment. “Please Greef! I’ll get the payment, I swear!”

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, I was out of there. Hugging my bag like a blankie, I pushed off the stool, leaving my putrid drink and headed for the exit. Keeping a calm pace, the last thing I needed was to draw attention. If that was Greef Karga, I was not taking my chances that he would listen to the story of a twenty-something-year-old orphan, looking for transport to a place where she might find work on a farm. I had heard about human trafficking and forced servitude, the sex trade and I was not sticking around, regardless if that guy had one ship or a hundred.

Out into the dusty street, I re-positioned my bag over my shoulder and walked further into the industrial shit hole. Despite blending into the crowded street, my vulnerability felt glaring and my fear was taking hold.

The cargo pilot had told me about a place that offered space to those passing through. Trudging on, I looked for the large structure built with blue containers with a black circle painted on the door. I could feel the eyes of those around me, tracking my movements, even stepping into my path to perhaps test my response. Biting the tip of my tongue, I scowled and filled my lungs with air, grateful, I was wearing black pants and a long-sleeved top.

There it was! The blue rusty building that stood a little higher than the metal and stone shacks on either side. The place looked like it had suffered a thousand sand storms but the black blotch on the hatch style door did make my feet move a little faster.

“Whatever you are looking for, it’s not in there.” A man’s voice came from behind. Not wanting to mix further with the locals, I ignored it and kept walking.”

“Stop,” it called out with authority and my elbow was tugged back. Snatching my arm away, I spun, ready to plant my knee into a groin.

Lowering his hand to his side, the helmeted man stood before me like he had been dropped out of the sky. Had he been following me this whole time? Had he waited outside the bar?

“What do you want?”

“I tried minding my own business but….you shouldn’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not for lodging.”

Saying nothing, I tightened my grip on my bag.

“Why?”

“There are beds but…they’re not for sleeping.”

“Oh,” my head shot back. “Okay.” Glancing down at the ground between us, I bit the end of my tongue, fearing my chin might start to tremble. This was bad. Clearing my throat, I looked back up, picking the black cross at the center of his helmet to focus on. “Where would one go if they were looking for transport?”

“Transport? Is that why you were looking for Karga?”

Nodding, I cleared my throat again, realizing I was the quintessential babe in the woods.

The man said nothing, but he seemed to look beyond my shoulder, his large helmet subtly shaking as if answering my question was a hassle. He may have only been the second person I had ever met but I could tell he was cursing himself for stopping me.  

“Do you have a ship?” I asked, not giving him the chance to blow me off. “I need to get somewhere that I can find work.”

Looking back down at me, he seemed to just stare. What was taking him so long to answer? It was painful! I hadn’t pestered him, he was the one who stopped me, followed me through the streets. Despite that and the large weapon on his back, I wasn’t afraid of him. Yes, I was the last person to be able to accurately gauge one’s character by their appearance or body language but his warnings, his reluctant advice, none of it felt like a ploy.  

“Look, I am a farmer. I’m fairly handy and I’m quiet. I have a little money and I can sleep in a ball on the floor. Do you have a ship with room for me? I’m hoping to make it to Dantoonie or somewhere there are colonies that grow food.”

“Two hundred and fifty credits and I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

“Two hundred and fifty?” my brows shot high with surprise. “Okay.” What choice did I have?

Swiftly turning, he began to walk away; springing forward, I rushed to keep up.

“Can I ask a question?”

As if I hadn’t spoken, he carried on, stalking through the streets, a couple of side allies, arriving at a fenced yard filled with, what I could see, was a dozen or so ships.

“Listen,” he spun around, standing still as a wall and I lurched to a stop to avoid running into him. “You just agreed to pay double what anyone would pay for travel. I don’t know who you are, or where you are from, but you are going to bring heat down on yourself and me. We will leave in a couple of hours. Until then, get in and stay quiet. Keep your money hidden. No talking to anyone or walking around looking like...” lifting his gloved hand, he flicked his orange-tipped fingers at me…“that.”

Eyes flashing wide, I froze, watching him turn and duck through a cut out in the wire fence, dipping carefully to clear the handle of his gun. Following behind, I stopped myself from asking any one of the dozen questions bouncing around in my head. From what I could tell, this conversation alliterate, gun-toting, armored, stiff walking, helmet-wearing man was my only hope. I was not going to piss him off any more than I apparently already had.

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines: Cursed Past Chapter 81 - Dubrillion

we're finally back with the main fic :D

Ash and Guss arrive at Dubrillion andinvestigate the scientists inventions 

Ash sat looking out at the hyperspace trails they had to go the long way round to Dubrillion as to not arouse suspicion so that had left her with rather a lot of time with the Mon Cal to her right and he wasn’t exactly quiet.

Guss continued to question her “so you and Gacen were quite close then?” Ash rolled her eyes how long was he gonna ask this sort of thing 

Ash shrugged “I mean I guess we lived together for two years and I helped him escape prison” Guss nodded frantically as he sat in the co-pilot's seat 

Guss asked “well it’s not like you talked about personal issues it was just a living arrangement” Ash frowned why had she been paired off with him

Ash answered “well yeah I mean he was pretty depressed so we got pretty real by all accounts” Guss seemed to stifle a question “look Guss if you’re worried I’m stealing your best friend spot I doubt that’s true Gacen may be my best friend but I doubt I’m his, he’s good at talking to people but believe me I don’t care about being his best friend” Guss seemed to relax a little

He nodded “right right right of course my bad sorry it’s just your so cool and well I’m me” Ash frowned looking to him he wasn’t wrong but still

Ash asked him “so why did you stay with Risha after Gacen was captured” Guss looked away Ash assumed he was embarrassed but it was hard to read his face

Guss hesitated “well to be honest it was the only place where I didn’t feel like a screw up, the rest of the crew had places to go back to but I couldn’t exactly go back to the Jedi Order” Ash’s eyes widened 

Ash was surprised “the Jedi order? What do you mean” of all the people to be part of the jedi order or at least formerly Guss was at the bottom of her list

Guss held his neck “I was formerly part of the Jedi order but I never really took to it so my force affinity only ever stayed this way” Ash was bewildered as Guss lifted a small trinket a few feet in the air

Ash had seen much more powerful jedi in her time but still was surprised to see it “so you had potential to become a jedi?” Guss nodded as the trinket fell out of the air suddenly

He stood it back up “well yes but I wasn’t ever any good at ‘controlling my emotions’ so I gave up” Ash nodded she could see that it seemed like a rather intense training system

Ash was still curious about something “you said something about Force affinity what’s that” Guss was seeming more comfortable as they continued to chat

Guss answered “well there’s two types, types like me where if trained right we could be Jedi but otherwise have an innate ability to perform a few powers for me it’s the force levitation of small objects and minor healing. And the other is when someone just has the innate ability of a force power regardless of training, like natural persuasion or some kind of ability to see through illusions that sorta thing” Ash had never heard of this she wondered if anyone she knew or had known had possessed such a power. Guss continued “once i suggested Gacen had innate charming power but he thought it was an insult to suggest that was anything but himself being charming” Guss chuckled and Ash couldn’t help but smile that did sound accurate

Ash had to admit maybe Guss wasn’t so bad “I never knew you had a force affinity maybe you will come in handy” Guss seemed to not know whether to take that as a compliment or not

Guss brushed it off “so where are you from Ash if you don’t mind me asking” Ash frowned no one ever really asked her that

Ash sighed “I don’t really know I’ve been a soldier all my life, I never knew my parents” Guss seemed to shuffle back seemingly worried he’d crossed a line

Guss apologized “sorry I didn’t want to bring up bad memories” Ash shook her head waving it off

Ash groaned “oh please don’t it’s ok I don’t long to meet them or anything if they were cruel enough to leave me in a republic camp then I don’t think I ever want to meet them, and they certainly won’t have any bearing on my life” Guss nodded his smile returning

His tone was softer “well you know what they say you find your real family in your friends” Ash sighed great pity he may have a point there but it still felt like pity

Ash responded tersely “yeah I guess so but don’t worry I’m not grasping for some form of companionship I’m doing just fine, it won't suddenly make me ‘happier’ or anything” Guss nodded at her not pressing it any further as great as a family sounded she doubted it’d fulfil her desire to help people so what was the point

They sat in silence for the rest of the trip until the sound of the ship coming out hyperspace began and they watched the planet of Dubrillion come into view and vibrant planet of reds and greens with large expansive oceans with many white fluffy clouds populating the sky although in some areas those clouds seemed to take on more of a smoggy quality. But then she noticed the large capital ship hovering over the system, she’d read up on it apparently the turret on the bottom could isolate an area and send a barrage of concentrated laser blasts to it, such a weapon made her shudder.

Nonetheless Ash could see why Risha loved her home it was stunning she began piloting down away from the larger cities she could see to the coordinates Risha had given her of Armande’s workshop as they breached the surface Ash turned on the stealth landing in a field not too far away

She put a beacon down to remember where they parked “ok Guss get the personal stealth fields” Guss nodded heading off to get them as Ash planned a route to the workshop apparently his inventions were dangerous and not what he ever intended to make so they’d have to be careful, Ash could only imagine what error had lead to the turrets creation 

She walked out to where Guss was waiting at the edge of the tall grass with the stealth equipment “alright just follow my lead and catalogue all we see” he nodded and they snuck through the grass which was providing ample cover

Soon they arrived at the ridge where a very manmade looking rock jutted out, Ash rolled her eyes this guy was not subtle, she got out the slicer gear and identified the console hidden behind some rocks.

Ash scoffed “I’ve broken into systems with triple layer encryption and this guy has a stack of rocks hiding his let’s just say I’m less than impressed” it was more embarrassing that this guy had captured her and Gacen but then again that was due to his bounty hunter friend

Guss responded “I suppose this must mean the inventions are all the more dangerous for him to have not been fired” Guss may have a point there but she wasn’t sure, nearby she noticed as two large rocks slid apart and she gestured Guss to follow. She sliced into the cameras as they walked in disabling them while they were inside as well as any alarm they would set off.

Soon they were inside and found an array of inventions on display she began to catalogue them down as did Guss, they ranged from all sorts of things, a renewable battery that actually was used as a bomb, an advanced shovel with a razor sharp edge and a conveyor belt that worked better as a garbage disposal. 

Ash chuckled this was the definition of failing upwards, Guss called her over “hey Ash look at this mining vessel” Ash walked over to see the vessel which seemed more like spaceship to her

She looked close and saw it had been renamed submersible she looked at it “well it’s certainly not going to do any mining it would come apart against any hard metal, I doubt it’s amazing as a submersible either” what it did look like though was a quick escape vessel if they were caught out

Guss nodded “I suppose I could test that theory underwater would be less taxing for me than you” he joked “unless you have secret gills” Ash gave him an unamused look and led him away they continued to catalogue the bad inventions until they came to a seperate room

In it they saw a microscope on the farside of the room, Guss went over to it and read “Microscope capable of scanning what it’s looking at simultaneously to showing it” he bent down to the inevitable actual use “High power concentrated laser barrage” Ash’s eyes widened that was like the turret

She walked over and took a look the resemblance was definitely there “this is what that capital ship turret is based of we have to get this thing on record” Guss’ eyes widened putting two and two together

Guss smiled “well we should take it then so he can’t make anymore” Ash nodded that was a good idea but they should make sure it was safe, before she could however Guss had picked it up and a force field appeared around them “wooops” it flickered but seemed to work like a normal force field

Ash stared daggers through him “I was going to say wait it may be trapped” Guss shrunk down his lack of clumsiness was bound to run out at some point

A holo of Armande flickered to life weirdly not facing towards them “well well well trying to steal my prized possession I don’t think so I’ll be back very soon to see who has dared to enter my lab” Ash watched as amalgamated droids appeared from hatches around the room, well getting out of here wasn’t part of the plan but she could adapt...

[benjimirthursby]

The Faithwrights of Numenor

A Record of  House Ciryaturs and  the rise of the Faithwrights of Numenor as compiled and illuminated by Handuli of the House of Ciryaturs, S.A. 1812

Loximir Thursby, T.A. 3002

Tinifalas Thursby, F.A. 18

Preface to the Third Revised Edition of the Faithwrights of Numenor.

The Faithwrights of Numenor (FoN) is compiled from the fragments and precious few complete scrolls and tales from the Eldar Days of the First Age and Second Age of this Middle-earth.  My predecessors in their fashion have done yeoman's work building the foundations on which I have continued the efforts.  It has been only with the insights of the Fare Folk, long friends to the Thursby Kinship much has been preserved of our history and for this I mark here our gratitude.  

- Tinifalas Thursby, Minas Tirith, Fourth Age 18.

Preface to the Second Revised Edition of the Faithwrights of Numenor.

Here is set the known words attesting to the history of the Thursby Family in the bygone ages of Middle-earth.  The luminary historian Handuli of the House of Ciryaturs laid down the first collection of stories from which I have added the accumulated knowledge gained since in this edition. Lore Masters of our Age would be aghast at the lack of original sources, however it is widely understood such is due to the oral traditions giving way to properly scribed records. -Loximir Thursby, Third Age, 3002

Preface to the First Edition of the Faithwrights of Numenor.

The House of Ciryaturs set to put to record the tales passed down from its founding fathers.  Owing to the nature of these earliest years, no proper record was kept until the House had come into being for some many years.  Nevertheless it is my hope this scribe's efforts will not be in vain and give knowledge to those yet to come of our earliest struggles and for what we stood for. - Handuli of the House of Ciryaturs.

*******

“Souls weary rise anew from the promise of new life on unknown shores amidst a vast sea.” ~Nathamir of the House of Ciryaturs. 28 S.A.

Wars of The First Age and the Coming to Elenna-nore.

In the years of the First Age people of original Edain blood settled near the shores of the Bay of Balar in the town of Arvernien.  Theirs was a life of peace, attuned to the rhythms of the sea and its life.  Soon these men came into friendship with the Eldar who made hearth and home in the Havens of Sirion. For the greater portion of the Age man and Elf enjoyed fellowship with one another.  

Drawn by the lustrous blue of the sea of Belegaer and learning at the knee of their ageless friends, the men of Arvernien came to achieve skill as shipwrights that rivaled any in Beleriand.  In this age it was not the custom of the race of men to take a sires name, the kindred took to title themselves as being of the House of Ciryaturs, or Ship Masters in the tongue of Quenya.  

The rise of shadows and the convulsions of the land and sea heralded the great War of Wrath in the halls of the House of Creatures.  Patriarch of Falathrim who dwelled in Havens of Sirion, ’Tsubchi, rallied the spirits of the Edain through the tales of their Teleri kin and so marshalled the men to war for the first time under the banner of their chief, Nathamir.

The war concluded the stern Edain returned to their homes overlooking the Bay of Balar. They were quick in action and sacrifice yet reticent to claim glory.  By deed they earned immense yet silently given esteem.  It was only with much urgent counsel that Nathamir heeded the call by Elros, son of Earendil, to take-up the gift of rest the Valar bestowed to the race of Men.  Thus the shipwrights of House Ciryaturs saw the Age end as they crafted many white vessels in their traditional fashion.  In turn these ships carried many of the race of men to their reward far to the west during the coming two score and ten years.

The isle settled and the realm of Numenor declared in 32 S.A., Nathamir settled the kin of his house in the city of Andunie on the shores of the bay taking its name from it.  Ensconced in a great fjord on the north western spur of the isle of Numenor, it afforded a secure, sheltered harbor and was nearest to the forbidden Valinor.  This was much desired as they had fought closely alongside the Elves in the concluding war of the first age and his house was named Elendili, “Elf-Friends” by the First Born.  

These Elendili were predecessors in their devotion to the Valar as the Faithful later in the age.  Those of the kin quickly and long kept ties and trade with the Faire Folk of the Undying Lands and those Edain whom kept their homes on Middle-earth.  Likewise, they became fast friends to the men of Hyarrostar and skilled in the husbandry of trees there which were the root of their earliest and best known trade, the building of fine ships.  In service to their early trade, kin also settled in Romenna in eastern Numenor, who's bay hosted the graving docks for their ships.   

Those of House Ciryaturs were well skilled as mariners, a trait not uncommon naturally as it was said to be imbued in the blood of the men of Numenor.  However it was such that their house became among the earliest and most stout supporters of the Uinendili, the “Guild of Venturers” whose guildhall, often kept aboard a ship, was hosted in their home of Andunie in SA 750.

Shadows rose again and the men of Westernesse rose again to meet them.  Tar-Minastir dispatched a great fleeting to aid Gil-galad in the War of the Elves and Sauron in year 1700 of the S.A.  It’s commander was the Numenorean admiral Ciryatur.    His own mother was from the House of Ciryaturs. Ciryatur crossed the sea of Arda aboard a flagship crafted by the House Ciryaturs and many from it took arms and sailed with the kindred admiral.

They sailed to aid the high Elven king whose Elves had been driven back to the River Lhûn by Sauron.  The high King was near defeat when the great fleet from Númenor arrived and Sauron was repelled with great loss.  The Ciryatur was able to effect landings on inhospitable shores thanks to the ships and skills of the House of Ciryaturs.  In so doing the Admiral was able to effect a secret envelopment of Souron’s forces, appearing in force at his rear as he fled the onslaught at the Lhun. Then fully routed at the Battle of the Gwathló, Sauron escaped and fled to Mordor following utter defeat at Calenardhon.  

*******

"The doom of men ought to keep us from dwelling too much on the ephemeral and seek the greater truth beyond. Too many fail to seek and only escape the doom." - Ocala of Romenna

Fall of the Kings and the Plight of the Faithful.

After the War of Wraith and the breaking of Beleriand, House Ciryaturs returned to their havens on Numenor and resumed their work. The House Ciryaturs had much involvement with the building of the harbors at Umbar, Pelargir and Belfalas.  Dry goods and stores from Middle-earth became an expanded source of wealth for the house.  Trade and other commerce ensured that news also flowed into the halls of Andunie continuously.

All the while the shadows of the Enemy never fully lifted from Middle-earth and even cast darkness over Numenor.  Edain from far away lands held dominion over isolated lands on Middle-earth and became sundered from men of High Blood.  Thus the Middle-men came to be.  Resentment and presumption drove Kings to assert tyranny over the lands beyond the island, exacerbating the change of esteem the blood of Numenor was held in.  

Among the men of High Blood, across Numenor a rift developed between those who honored the Valar and precips of Eru and those aligned with the Kings.  The Kings grew in resentment of the Eldar and the seeming inquiry of lifespans.  The Kings came to pursue corporeal power and to halt the slow decline in longevity which seemed to beset some blood lines more as the age progressed.

The chiefs of the House came into close council with the Lords of Andunie even as ties to the Kings of Numenor frayed.  Relations with the Elves of Valinor and the havens on Middle-earth  remained warm.  Which only gave root to suspicion of the House among the Kings as they lost faith in the patronage of the Valar.  

*******

"The Doom of Men meant words of lore faded even with the long lived blood of Numenor.  It was with hope of aiding in the passage of wisdom and awareness of darkness that the Falathrim gave their Elf Friends the most revered relics of their House." - Tinfalas Thursby, The Book of Thursby, Volume One.

"Seminal Icons of the House of Ciryaturs." 

The great Seeing Stones and legendary weapons of the age were coveted for their imbued qualities.  They were the highest examples of their kind and we're never replicated as the skill in craft which produced them diminished.

It would be wrong to describe the seminal Icons of the House Ciryaturs as lesser examples of their craft however.  Rather they were with specific and narrow purposes.  These icons were gifts given by Falathrim, who had divided their dwellings between the havens at Edholland and the Undying lands.  They were to provide warning and guidance.  

The first of these icons was the Dagger of Warding.  This dagger was presented to the chief of the House of Ciryaturs and passed to its successor for ages to come.  It possessed a blade of traditional Elven design with a curved blade and grip.  It's pummel featured a crystal  which with a twist of it's true silver mount could be concealed.  The makers imbued the crystal with qualities that gave the blades keeper warning in times of approaching danger.  The crystal would demonstrate a hue when the daggers carrier had need to be weary or mindful.  The hue had no specific threat tied to it.  Rather, like the second icon, its meaning was left to the mind of its keeper.

The second icon gifted to the House of Ciryaturs was named the Beacon of Andunie.  The beacon was a palm sized crystal whose hue was fluid. When spurred to life the beacon was ever changing from transparent to opaque and luminous to dark.  The quality the Elves imbued the Beacon with was to forewarn of interesting times.  The Beacons keepers may devine images and notions from laying of hands over it or gazing into its depths.  However over the ages the Beacon was said to provide guidance best  through inspiring dreams which its keeper was left to determine the meanings of.

These gifts were kept secret and safe from the knowledge of the King of Numenor.  They would prompt their keepers to view their times with clear minds and if not to give foresight, pause at least to consider and prepare for the possible.

*******

"The dead return to the ground but sometimes the soul rots before the body has fallen." - Tondera of Andunie. "Of the Fall."

"The Fall of Shadow, Rise of Fear and the Flight from Numenor."

Nothing living with any modicum of comfort lacks a fear of it's own demise.  Therefore it is no surprise that the short lives of the race of men by the reckoning of the other races of Middle-earth, created a unique mix of fear and resentment.  Concordantly it was among those with the greatest wealth and power the greatest depth of these sentiments were harbored.  None were more fearful than the nobles and Kings of Numenor.  None were more driven to tap powers and walk paths to abate the inevitable doom all shared than the Kings of Numenor.  

Those men of lesser means and bloodlines rallied to the King, forsaking ancient faith in the purpose of the Doom of Men.  They sought to abate fear by subordinating their wisdom as Kingsmen and the fellowship of others like them.  

Those who sought only to remain faithful to the teaching of the Valar and Eldar became an intolerable reminder of the fear the Kingsmen held in their hearts.

The Eldar, their presence, craft, spoken and written words were bitter reminders of what the Kingsmen coveted.  Soon the use of the ancient Elven tongue was forbidden.  Title and lore became rooted in more common tongues.  The House of Ciryaturs was compelled to move from it's ancestral home in Andunie to Romenna and even forsake their house name.  It took in place of the house name the secret identity of the Faithwrights of Numenor. 

It was in the reign of the last King of Numenor that the disciple of the first Dark Lord feigned supplication before a host of Numenorean might before his gates.  A ruse which earned the title Deciever among those of the Faithwrights.  To the dismay of the Faithwrights, blinded by pride and fear the King took the Deciever to the very shores of Numenor.  There the King harkened to black council which gave root to the eventual doom of Numenor.

In these years the Beacon of Andunie shimmered vigorously in the quarters of the matron of the Faithwrights, Tondera of Andunie.  From dreams filling her sleep Tondera resolved she needed to prepare against a calamity yet unknown.  She took counsel with the Elven friends of the Faithwrights at sea and in the new settlements of Belfalas.  She took heed of the guidance of Cirdan and Elrond in the years that followed.  As ever more terrible acts were visited upon the Faithful she prepared her House for the future.

So it was the Faithwrights redoubled building ashore in Middle-earth and began to craft new and spacious white ships.  These Tondera had kept unfinished but whose parts could be drawn together in great haste.  The Dagger of Warding remained at her side waking and at rest.  Her eyes frequently consulting the pummels crystal.  

So it was that the Deceiver at last put the King's mind to the unthinkable and the greatest host of Numenors history sailed in anger to the shores of the Undying lands.  So awakened by the bright and urgent sheen from the Dagger of Warding that Tondera gave the orders and the White Ships of Numenor were assembled and took those of the Faithful to sea as the island was sundered and consumed.  

*******

"Foresight prepared them, destiny rewarded them." - Benjimir Thursby, "The Analects."

"The Turn of the Age and the Rise of the House of Thursby."

The Fall of Numenor realized the Deciever's desire to heap vengeance on Numenor.  It did not however purge it's pride and wisdom from Middle-earth.  Arnor and Gondor and their fortress cities had long been founded.  Havens and bastions of the Faithful were well established when Westernesse fell.  Aboard ships of the Faithwrights Elendil and his sons were conveyed to new shores with the icons of Numenor and a resolve to preserve it's memory.  

The Faithwrights took to their own haven in Belfalas and tended their work and business throughout Middle-earth.  Content to take their reward from lives of peace along the shores of the Bay of Belfalas, the Faithwrights sought no title or fiefdom from the named King.  As they had since the First Age they took to service as trusted counselors to the King and the Prince, given lordship over Belfalas.  

Tondera gave command to raise a hall on the greater island in the Bay of Belfalas.  It was also at this time she took as her husband the chief of a stalwart clan of Middle-men.  The clan had over the Age founded settlements and merchantiles in the Faithwrights stead.  As a token of solidarity with and to seal their bond the Faithwrights took as their own the sire name of the clan.  Thus was founded the House of Thursby.

The Faithful were not alone in escaping Numenor's doom.  Kingsmen had long held sway in the haven of Umbar.  Their blood would run thin and diminish with speed after Westernesse fell.  Yet the hate of the Valar, Faithful and the engrained resentment that infected the Kingsmen remained.  From the haven the Corsairs of Umbar gave body and name to the shadow of the Kingsmen.  Soon they grappled with the Navy of Gondor and thus with the ships and men of the House of Thursby throughout the coming  Age.

Even as this bitter rivalry took root House Thursby was called upon by the King as he marshalled the might of the race of men to the Last Alliance.  Once more ships and men under the House banner conveyed might to war.  The Deciever fell and the long Second Age came to an end.

Yet the Last Alliance's victory was incomplete and the Third Age of Middle-earth began under shadow.  It was long after the Deciever fell before the Dagger of Warding and the Beacon of Andunie fell dark.  A great ring of power was lost.  Fell folk remained throughout many a mountain range.  Corsairs challenged for supremacy at sea.  New and hateful foes plagued the Kingdoms from the east.  Most disconcertingly, the bloodlines of Numenor scattered, sundered and diminished.  Strife, pride and petty wants buckled the bonds among men of High Blood.  Middle-men carried on and looked with weary eyes on the Lords who presumed Dominion over them yet provided little wisdom or prosperity.  

The House of Thursby settled into the long watchful peace and laid foundations to guard against the shadows seen in dreams of the future.  The House sent it's sons and daughters to learn and serve in the halls of man, King and Elf alike.  They kept watch over Middle-earth with the pride of true sons of Westernesse and the absolute resolve that against the Shadows, Numenor would prevail.

*******

[hinerdsitscat]

i just binge-read your "lars and organa" series and i want to know if you have any ideas what might have happened if they did take over the empire? would they have gone evil?

Oh dang, this takes me back (my very first foray into Star Wars fanfic!) I guess I sort of have an answer for you, because I started work on a more-or-less-officially-abandoned sequel to Lars & Organa, which was going to be another four-part cycle where the galaxy has to deal with an invasion from a Yuuzhan Vong-style empire from parts unknown. But it got a little too grim and also overloaded with stuff from the Clone Wars and Rebels animated series, so I moved on to other things.

But I did write a good chunk of it. 

In the first part of the sequel (tentatively titled A Day of Peace) while Luke is dealing with various Political Things and then running off to respond to a distress beacon from a mysteriously-reappeared Ezra Bridger, Leia is doing her thing with Rogue Squadron because the war with the Empire is still going on.

A supposedly-simple mission (ha) to steal some starfighters goes incredibly awry when a Star Destroyer shows up. Vastly outnumbered, the Alliance ships are suddenly saved by the arrival of three other Star Destroyers, who attack the first Star Destroyer and destroy it. 

Here’s an excerpt:

There was a long silence before Han hailed the remaining Imperial ships. “Venerator, not to be ungrateful, but what the hell is going on here?”

“Let me take the opportunity for further introductions, then: my name is Fleet Admiral Chalnos Rivian. The Venerator is the flagship of the Fleet of Succession, which has sworn its allegiance to the true heirs of Palpatine’s Empire.”

“Then what are you doing helping us?” Han asked in confusion.

“Because they are currently among your ranks: the Emperor Luke Skywalker and his sister Leia Skywalker, the Lady Vader.”

“Oh shit,” Leia whispered in the cockpit of her X-wing.

---------

For the first time in Leia’s memory, Mon Mothma appeared to be at a loss for words. 

“To be fair,” Leia said, fidgeting awkwardly in her chair, “we assumed that they would figure out that we had tricked them once we had escaped.”

The older woman pressed her fingers to her temples, then let out an exasperated groan. “What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing!”

“There is an Imperial fleet outside, and you call that ‘nothing’?”

“We didn’t—” The rest of Leia’s reply was interrupted by the entrance of General Dodonna, followed by R2-D2.

“Rivian gave us this audio recording, captured during the Battle of Endor,” General Dodonna said, gesturing to Artoo to play the recording. Leia winced as she listened to her brother do his best Scary Sith Lord impression.

“Apparently you were quite convincing,” Mon Mothma said drily once the recording ended. 

“Okay, yes, that… that does sound bad,” Leia said, still wincing.

“And you just forgot to mention this during your debriefing?”

“We were only in charge for fifteen minutes!”

“You staged a coup and your defense is that it was brief?” Mon Mothma asked incredulously.

During Books 3 and 4 of L&O, Vader had been doing some work behind the scenes to gather any Imperial forces who he had influence over and set it up so that if Palpatine died, they would seek out Leia and Luke and follow them. The Rebellion is initially thrilled at the arrival of all of these resources, but are less than thrilled to discover that a) Leia and Luke were sort of technically in charge of the Empire for like five minutes at the end of Book 4, and b) these Imperials are still, well, Imperials and consider themselves heirs to the real Empire, not Rebels. Leia, gritting her teeth, decides to accept their offer and becomes the head of this weird group of not-actually-defectors.

It gets weird.

The head of the fleet is a fanatic who basically worshiped the ground Vader walked on, and is more or less angling to get Leia to take her father’s place in the whole Bloodthirsty Sith Commander department. Leia spends most of the story struggling to do some kind of good with the power she’s been given, but the pressure doesn’t exactly bring out the best in her.

Here’s a scene when Leia breaks up a brawl between a group of Rebels and a group of Imperials under her command: 

“What happened?” Leia demanded. No one seemed prepared to speak, so she pointed at an officer she recognized. “You, Carden, what happened?”

Carden, a wiry dark-skinned man who worked with Agent Lumaan, got to his feet. “Some words were exchanged between the Wookiee and a group of our staff and then he attacked us, ma’am.”

“Without any provocation?” she asked skeptically. She turned to Chewbacca. “What happened?” she asked the Wookiee.

Chewie glared at the officer that Leia had noticed earlier, the one with blood on his face, and began a tirade of furious Shyriiwook that was far too fast for her to follow. At one point, Han nearly rose to his feet, but a few Rogues were able to grab him by the shoulder and hold him back. 

“Chewbacca, please, slow down,” she said. She looked over at Han. “What is he saying?”

Chewie glared up at Leia and used a word in Shyriiwook that Leia knew all too well from Tatooine: “Slave. He called me a slave.”

“And more,” Han growled. “That he had served on Kashyyyk, that he had taken part in what the Empire did there, that he would make sure that he—”

More Rebels joined in, but Leia was no longer listening to their words. She could only hear the blood roaring in her ears. She began to walk slowly towards the officer. “What is your name?” she asked him, her voice soft and dangerous. 

“Lieutenant Stria, ma’am,” he said, carefully standing up. 

“Did you say those things, Lieutenant?”

“No, ma’am, it’s all—”

“I will know if you’re lying,” she said as she stepped closer. “Did you call him a slave? Did you brag about your role in enslaving his people?”

“Ma’am, it’s just a Wookiee—”

Leia snarled and shoved Stria against the nearest wall with the Force. She was in his face only a moment later. “These are our allies, Lieutenant. These are my friends. If you can’t get the most basic notion of respect through your thick duracrete skull, then at least remember that.”

Leia could barely see through her rage. Stria tried to look away; she grabbed his chin and forced him to face her. “I don’t know what Empire you think you’re fighting for, Lieutenant, but now you’re working for me and you know exactly who I am. Exactly what I am: I am the Lady Vader, you useless bucket of Hutt-spit, and I can literally flay you alive if you so much as cough in a way that I deem offensive.”

Pinning the now-shaking Stria to the wall, she turned to face the rest of the Imperials. “That goes for every single one of you: if there is even a single instant of anything other than complete obedience and loyalty, your next trip off the Venerator won’t be on a shuttle—it’ll be through the fucking airlock.”

“And you…” she hissed in Stria’s face, “not only are you no longer a lieutenant, you’re no longer a person. You are a walking carcass who should count his every future breath as a damned miracle. What I have planned for you back on the Venerator is going to make this—” she flicked a finger against the blood drying on his face “—look like a fucking trip to the refresher, you—”

Leia had let go of his chin to indicate the blood; as she did so, Stria slumped to the ground, senseless.

She hadn’t been holding his chin. She had been strangling him. 

Leia flinched back in horror. A dozen Imperial eyes were on her, not to mention those of her former squadmates. She couldn’t have a meltdown right now. She had to get out of here. 

Straining to keep herself from visibly trembling, she signaled two members of the shuttle crew. “Bring him aboard.” He was still alive, at least. She looked at the rest of her staff. “Let’s go.”

Admiral Rivian had apparently been watching the entire incident from the ramp of the shuttle. 

As she passed him, he inclined his head respectfully. “My Lady,” he said, giving her a smile that sent chills down her spine.

So... not great.

While the first series involved Luke’s temptation to the Dark Side and ultimate rejection of it, the sequel series was going to do the same with Leia. Luke, whose temptation had involved experiencing a lot of trauma, is now developing new relationships and support (introducing the Ultimate Sass Squad of Luke Organa, Ezra Bridger, and Mara Jade), while at the same time, Leia is growing increasingly isolated, leaving her vulnerable to the Dark Side.

It all works out in the end, of course. But the journey to get there was a bit more exhausting than I could manage at the time, and I shifted to working on some prequel-era AUs instead.

I hope that answered your question at least a little?

[eilonwiiy]

Bookends ; a Witchlands AU

Chapter 2

A night at the Cleaved Man turns both Safi and Iseult's worlds upside down after an explosive confrontation with an uptight Nubrevnan and an unexpected romantic gesture from a close friend...

Summary: Iseult det Midenzi never expected to go to a top university, so when her mother falls ill and she is forced to drop out to make ends meet, life has never seemed so unfair. But when she starts working at the local library and is unexpectedly assigned in the Children’s Room, a certain monosyllabic man and his thrice-damned demon child start showing up and Iseult begins to wonder if the threads of fate have a plan for her after all.

Previous chapters: 1

Ships: Iseult/Aeduan, Safi/Merik, and more… stay tuned!

Tags: modern AU, college setting, family, friendship, humor, fluff, slow-burn, romance, eventual smut

Read on AO3: here

Tag list: (please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @lseultdetmidenzi

*   .   *   .   *   .   *   .

There was a certain art to it, Iseult had to admit.  Bartending, that is.

Safi darted every which way behind the bar, hands reaching for bottles and canisters without thought and pouring liquids and syrups of all colors into an endless supply of glasses at breakneck speed.  Just when Iseult thought the place had reached its peak hour, a fresh wave of college kids invaded the counter. Iseult wasn’t sure how a place as cramped as The Cleaved Man managed to pack so many bodies.  For a bar as ancient as it was, she supposed being forced to get up close and personal with eligible strangers was half its appeal.

Not for Iseult though.  She isolated herself on her usual perch at the very end of the bar by the swinging half-door that led behind the counter, still wearing the outfit she wore at the library: a thick black knitted sweater, matching jeans, and laced-up boots.  No one bothered her, save for one unfortunate soul at the beginning of the night. He looked relatively harmless - if you could call a salmon pink polo shirt and khakis shorts in mid-winter harmless. But that didn’t stop Iseult from squeezing a lemon slice in his eyes when he wouldn’t take a hint that she wasn’t interested.  

When he had turned to Safi, face dripping wet and eyes stinging red, clearly expecting to see some sort of reprimand dished out, she only shrugged.

“That’s what they’re for,” she said and plopped a fresh slice into the drink she’d just finished mixing and offered it pointedly to a girl on his other side.  “Good luck out there,” she told her.

The girl grinned and raised her glass to Safi in thanks, turning to leave, but not without giving the open-mouthed guy a meaningful look.  

After that, the evening was considerably less exciting.  For Iseult, at least. For everyone else, the night was just getting started.    

Walking into the Cleaved Man, you could easily expect its raucous crowd to break out into a sea shanty at the drop of a hat.  It was like stepping into one of Iseult’s beloved swashbuckling tales, with its musty smell, fat wooden tables, and rickety benches.  There were even giant beer barrels tucked into the tight space’s dark corners serving as makeshift seating that Safi swore were older than the bar’s current owner.  Ornate, wooden chandeliers hung from iron chains, strewn with strings of white lights, a nice modern touch that doused the room in a soft, golden glow. While swarms of college kids hovered around the bar, smaller, more intimate parties clustered together in cozy booths, each with a single candle flickering bright upon the table, illuminating the smiles and laughter of their occupants.  Only a few diamond checkered stained glass windows lining the front of house offered the passersby a small glimpse of the merriment contained within.  

Iseult appreciated the fantasy of it.  There was something romantically atmospheric to it.  In a historic sort of way, if that was possible. If it weren’t for the thrumming music and the mounting inebriation pressing in on all sides of her, she would have loved to come here with a book and simply read.  

“How are those limes coming, Iz?” Safi called over the music, not looking up from the glass she was shooting Sprite into.  

“I’m almost -” Iseult began, but Safi was already there, sweeping whatever slices she had off the cutting board into a tin bucket and hurrying away, “-done.”  She speared another lime and got back to chopping.

Friday nights were one of the busiest nights of the week, but they became even busier when you were working for two - as Safi was tonight.  She wasn’t technically alone. But Stix seemed more interested in picking up girls than serving drinks.  

Whereas Safi was a whirlwind of frantic energy, Stacia “Stix” Sotar leaned completely at ease against the counter at the other end of the bar.  Across from her a girl with badly dyed red hair spoke animatedly, eating maraschino cherries from a glass and wearing a dollar store tiara. She was clearly the matriarch of her group, as the rest of her friends - overly made up for a night at the Cleaved Man - stood adoringly around her, sipping their drinks and bursting into fits of laughter more often than was believable.  The birthday girl’s heavily painted eyes never left Stix, and Iseult had lost count of how many times her hand consciously fingered the bedazzled sash advertising “21 and HOT, buy me a SHOT” draped across her generous chest.  

Well, Stix had clearly seen to the shot.  What service.

Iseult’s attention lingered a moment longer before sparing a glance to the rest of the bar.  The evening was definitely in full swing. People had long since moved onto their second or third drink, graduating to shots and plates stacked high with wings or cheesy nachos.  At the eye of the impending storm, Iseult spotted a familiar face that could not have looked more out of place.  

Lounging languorously in sky blue, Leopold shuffled a deck of cards at one of the small round tables in the center of the room.  Keeping him company were his roommates Lev, Zander, and - much to Iseult’s displeasure - Chiseled Cheater. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did.  They lived together after all; he had as much right to hang out with them as anyone else. Still...

As though hearing her thought, Leopold turned in Iseult’s direction and met her gaze.  His face lit up and he flashed her a criminally stunning smile, burning like a beacon amidst the sweat and alcohol swirling around him.  He immediately beckoned for her to join them. She shook her head.

Why? he mouthed.

Iseult skewered a lime and held it up.  

Leopold’s lips pursed, accentuating their natural pink plushness.  His finger tapped the table, and with a quick word to his companions, he tossed the cards down with a little more flourish than was necessary and slipped away.  As he made his way towards Iseult, he moved through the crowd like a snake, disturbing no one and going unnoticed. Well, not completely unnoticed. A fair amount of heads turned to catch more than a periphery glimpse of his deliciously carved cheekbones and silky waves of strawberry blonde hair.

“Was that lime a metaphor for what you’re going to do to me for sharing a drink with Caden?” he drawled, sidling up to Iseult.  “Or have we seriously fallen to such a level of co-dependence that our dear Safi can no longer do her job without pawning some of the load off onto you?”

Iseult sliced into a particularly juicy lime and let the satisfying squelch answer for her.  Leopold shook his head with an amused chuckle, and before Iseult could protest, he plucked a slice from the cutting board and popped it into his mouth.  

“Mmm what a sweet death it will be,” he said in between suckles.  If it had been anyone else, Iseult would have been disgusted by such an obnoxious display - and in a public place no less.  But Leopold had a way of making even the grossest practices seem sophisticated. Sensuous, even.

“Limes are bitter,” Iseult corrected.

“Not with you at the end of the knife.”  

Iseult looked at him.  He licked a runaway trail of juice from his thumb, far too invested in the lime to notice Iseult staring.  His lips were red and wet, glistening obscenely under the halo of stringed lights hovering above him. She couldn’t help it; her face warmed.

But when he tossed the lime into the open garbage can behind the counter, it was like he’d said nothing.

“Do I need to call social services?” he pressed in a mock whisper that was sure to reach Safi’s ears.  “Is she keeping you here against your will?”

“Ha-ha,” Safi interjected, slapping a towel onto the counter and wiping it down.  Leopold lurched back as she made a pass near him.  

“Watch the sleeves, love,” he chastised with a small, but noticeable pout that only made Iseult stare at his lips again.  

“Oh Polly, you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t fussing over your designer shirt of the day, but you came to the wrong place if you expected to not be spilt on at least twice.”

Leopold gave a disdainful huff.  “Tell me about it,” he muttered, scrutinizing a spot on his shirt that was only visible to him.  After a moment, he clicked his tongue and abandoned the fabric with a note of disgust. “I’d be at Arlenni’s Loop if it weren’t for the company - which brings me back to my original question.  Are you going to keep poor Iseult here shackled to you all night or are going to let her actually enjoy herself?”  

“She’s keeping me company.  What could be more fun than that?”

Iseult kept her gaze downcast, suddenly needing to cut each lime slice with exact precision.

Leopold turned away from Safi like she hadn’t said anything. “You should join us.  We were just about to start a game of-”

“We don’t need to play any more games with your lot, thank you,” Safi cut in, brandishing her rag and earning an affronted glare from Leopold.

“Excuse me, since when does ‘Iseult’ mean ‘we’?  And what exactly do you mean by “my lot”?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”  Safi gave the table he’d just left a withering glare.  Leopold followed it over his shoulder, then turned back to her, frowning.

“For Noden’s sake, Safi.  This is overdoing it - even for you.”  He watched her, waiting for a response, but she said nothing, attention trained on the row of glasses she was now wiping dry.  When it was clear she wasn’t going to concede, he breathed an impatient sigh, then, designer sleeves and all, leaned against the counter and drew himself closer to Safi.  Understanding softened his expression, but his lips twitched.

“Now, love,” he began delicately, “I know you fancied yourself his girlfriend-”  

“I did not!” Safi barked, slamming a glass onto the counter and sending water droplets flying.  She glared at Leopold, eyes blazing. “He stole our apartment, Leopold!”

Leopold was entirely unaffected, despite his shirt was now spattered shirt.  He simply drew away from the counter, straightening and crossing his arms. “Oh boo-hoo, Safiya.  So you let slip to a guy you made-out with that you found the perfect off-campus apartment and he swooped in and snagged it for himself.  That hardly makes him a thief.”

“It’s how he got the information that matters,” Iseult intervened, feeling that she had let the two childhood friends’ bickering go on long enough.  Safi nodded fervently in agreement.  

Leopold clucked his tongue in distaste.  “Oh stop that. A lot of things happened at Vaness’ end-of-the-year party, but you being taken advantage of was not one of them.  Call him an asshole if you must, but don’t turn him into something he isn’t.”

Iseult’s heart lurched at the mention of Vaness’ infamous end-of-the-year party, but she swallowed it down.  “He took advantage of her feelings.”

“We all do at one point or another in our lives, whether we mean to or not,” Leopold said, giving her an almost pitying look.  “Heartbreak, dished out or taken, is an unfortunate side effect of having feelings.”

Iseult’s nose twitched.  What her mother would have had to say about that.  But even as she looked into Leopold’s sparkling sea green eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a trail of unease crawl up her spine.

“Why does it even matter?” he pressed on.  There was a strained edge to his voice as he ran a distracted hand through his perfectly coiffed hair.  “I saved the day and now you have an open invitation to our place at my behest and can torture Caden with your presence til the end of your days.”

This part was true at least.  Leopold had swooped in and snagged the fourth room Caden, Lev, and Zander needed to fill.  And he had used his status to forgo any scrupulous tenant screenings and ensure the landlord’s lease papers were signed before anyone could do anything to stop it.  It had been brilliant, actually. And he had done it all on his own.

“What am I supposed to do?” Leopold looked imploringly between Safi and Iseult.  “Not talk to them?”

Safi sniffed and raised her chin in the air.  “That would be preferable, yes.”

Leopold stared at her.  “You are impossible,” he declared finally, to which Safi merely shrugged.  Annoyance flickered across his face and he ran his hand through his hair again, cursing under his breath, “At least you got a good lay out of it.”

“What??”  Safi sputtered, eyes blown wide with panic and darting between Leopold and Iseult.  “We didn’t- did he tell you that?! ”

“No,” Leopold admitted sounding equally unamused.  “That was wishful thinking on my part.”

The two of them glared at each other, neither one looking happy with the other.  For a second, Iseult thought Safi would throw something at him. Her dirty rag perhaps.  Or a bar glass. That would be a first. But instead, her expression frosted over and she hefted the plastic bin of newly washed glasses against her hip.  They clinked noisily against each other.

“Go away, Polly.  Or you’ll have more than a stain on your shirt to cry about.”  She regarded Leopold cooly, then strode away, leaving him and Iseult alone.

Iseult shifted in her seat and situated herself back over her cutting board.  “I’d take her advice seriously. Those bar guns shoot surprisingly far. I’ve seen them in action.”

“If it means getting a drink…” Leopold trailed off, and to Iseult’s surprise, he drew up an empty stool seemingly out of thin air and plopped himself down next to her.  He leaned into her conspiratorially. “What are the odds of her making me a drink that isn’t laced with strychnine? Should I go bother Stix?”

Iseult glanced across the bar.  Stix was still working her magic on the “birthday bitch” as she’d overheard one of her loud friends dub her.  Her obnoxious red curls bounced as threw her head back and let out a shriek of laughter at something hilarious Stix apparently said.  Iseult noticed Safi roll her eyes in irritation as she tried to take the order of a big burly guy towering behind the group.

“You’d have to be a girl to get her attention,” she muttered, reaching for a lemon.

Leopold frowned, eyeing the group with mild interest.  “Surely I’m as pretty as one, wouldn’t you say?” He drew himself back, so that his form was on full display for Iseult.  He grinned and gave her an optimistic sort of look that brought out his natural boyish charm. “Couldn’t hurt to give it a shot.  Especially if it means avoiding my untimely death.”

Iseult didn’t respond.  That prospect didn’t sound so bad right now.  Leopold seemed to have read her mind because after a moment of awkward silence, he reached out and covered the hand holding her knife with his.

“Iseult," he said softly, and Iseult’s hand twitched under his.  He paused.  "I didn’t mean what I said.  Safi means more to me than… well, anyone. I’d never do anything to intentionally upset her. I love her.”  

His voice was pitched low so that only Iseult could hear him, but every word rang true and clear.  She slowly turned to look at him and something in his face relaxed when her eyes met his.  He was so close to her she could see the little flecks of blue in his them bloom with every blink.  The strands of red in his lashes. He licked his lips... and she hated herself for looking there too.  

“But,” he resumed cautiously, “I’m tired of her getting on my case for this.  It’s not fair. I haven’t done anything wrong, and look... I know you would face Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting it, but I think you know that Safi needs to let this go.  If not for my sake, then for hers.”  

Iseult blinked.  No one knew her better than Safi… which was why she was so stunned with how close Leopold came to hitting the truth.  But it was like he said, she’d take on Noden and his Hagfishes before admitting Safi was wrong.

Leopold squeezed her hand in understanding and let go.  Iseult immediately pulled it into her lap, only then realizing how warm it had felt under his.  She clasped her other hand and fidgeted with the silver ring around her index finger.    

Leopold hopped off his stool and brushed his hands on the front of his pants, as though he’d dirtied himself through the mere act of sitting.  He pointed to Iseult’s half-empty glass. “Do you need another juice box?”

Iseult grabbed the drink out from under the scrutiny of his finger and took a defensive sip from her straw.  It had a watery taste to it, all the ice cubes nearly melted to nothing. “No, I’m good.”

The corner of Leopold’s mouth curved up and the dimple on his cheek became a winking star.  “Yes, you are,” he purred, backing away into the crowd, “So very, very good.”

And then he was gone.  Iseult gaped at the spot, not sure of what had just happened, and turned in a daze to the end of the bar where Stix stood.  Sure enough, Leopold reappeared, slipping smoothly between closely pressed together shoulders and then leaning against the bar without taking any notice of the half dozen or so faces gawking at him for so blatantly cutting the line.  Or maybe he simply didn’t care. Even Birthday Bitch was looking at him like she couldn’t believe he was real as his lips moved with ease. That is, until Stix started laughing at something he’d said. A true, genuine sound.

The girl didn’t like that.  

With a scandalized look at the pair, she swiped her drink off the counter and took a pouty sip as she hobbled off her stool.  Leopold gracefully took her place without sparing the girl a glance, and even had the audacity to plop a maraschino cherry in his mouth.  Iseult saw Birthday Bitch peek over her shoulder a couple times to see if Stix had noticed she’d left.  

She didn’t.  Not even a little, judging by the pen and napkin she was sliding Leopold’s way.  

“Unbelievable,” muttered Safi, joining Iseult and watching Leopold scribble what could only be his name and number onto the napkin.  

“Admit it, you’re impressed,” Iseult said.  Safi only let out a mirthless laugh and turned her back on them just in time to miss Leopold slide the napkin back to Stix with a wink before disappearing back into the crowd.  She grabbed a lemon slice and shoved it in her mouth.

“He even got her to work,” Iseult added, ignoring the loud noises coming from Safi’s passionate assault on her lemon and nodding over her shoulder to where Stix was miraculously making a round of drinks.  “He’ll have you groveling at his feet by midnight.”

Safi swiped another lemon slice and made to shove it in Iseult’s mouth.  Iseult dodged the attack, and when Safi tried again, Iseult only scrunched her face and ducked a second time.  As childish as it was, it set both girls to laughing, a welcome sound to Iseult’s ears after such a long night.  Safi and Leopold bickered all the time, but she hated to see her so wound up over something so inconsequential as Chiseled Cheater.  Her friend didn’t wear hurt as well as she thought she did.

Safi finally stuffed the lemon into her own mouth.  “At least I can take a break now,” she said grudgingly, though her expression remained at ease.  She swung her hair over her shoulder and stole a glance at Stix. “Who do you think it’s for?”

Iseult wasn’t sure if she meant the drinks or the napkin Leopold slipped Stix.  She decided on the napkin. “Stix, of course.”

“Please, he’s not that good,” Safi muttered distantly as her eyes scanned the bar.  “My vote is for the birthday bazongas over there.”

“Safi.”

“What?  They’re huge!” Safi made an emphatic, and entirely unnecessary, gesture with her hands.  “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice!”

Iseult’s nose twitched, but didn’t say anything.

“See,” insisted Safi with with all the maturity of a five-year-old.  “And trust me, if we noticed, Polly definitely noticed.”

Something needled Iseult’s chest.  “You don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”  

Safi opened her mouth to comment, but a tray of drinks magically appearing interrupted them.  

“Special delivery,” trilled Stix, lifting a glass off the tray balanced on her hand and placing it in front of Iseult.  Her braided white hair was piled high on top of her head and up close, Iseult could see blue and silver beads woven into the tightly wound strands.  

“I didn’t order anything,” she said automatically, eyeing the colorful concoction like she didn’t know what it was.  

Other people might have been put off by Iseult’s inflectionless voice, but Stix only smiled, showing off the gap between her two front teeth.

“You can thank Prince Charming over there,” she said, with a nod and a wink.  Both Iseult and Safi’s heads spun to where she gestured, but somehow Iseult already knew who she’d find.

Gold waves rippled under the lights as Leopold tipped his head back and shook with laughter.  The deck of taro cards was back in his hands and he was in the process of dealing a round to Lev, Zander, and Chiseled Cheater, the cards flying from his long, delicate fingers and sliding across the table.  Dumbly, Iseult turned back to beverage sitting in front of her and inspected it. It was like a sunset in a cup, all orange, yellow, and red bleeding brilliantly together. She didn’t reach for it, though, to give it taste.  

Iseult eyes slid to the napkin set beside beside it and she noticed there was something scrawled on it.  She peeled it off the bar and slowly held it up to read.  Her heart was pounding.  Why was her heart pounding?   Stasis, Iseult.  Stasis.

Iseult looked up from the napkin and back at Leopold.  He wasn’t even watching to see what her reaction would be.  In fact, the only person distracted from their card game was Chiseled Cheater, and he definitely wasn’t looking at Iseult.  

Even from afar, Iseult could see the small line that wormed between Caden’s brows whenever she caught him looking at Safi.  He was in the middle of drinking his beer when his gaze strayed to her, the bottle hovering briefly over his lips before he indulged in another long swig and turned away.

Unfortunately for Iseult, Safi wasn’t paying attention to him.  The only thing she was gawking at was the fruity monolith standing between them.

“You’re right,” Safi declared breaking the silence.  “I don’t know what kind of girl he likes.”

Iseult said nothing.  She picked up the glass, set it down next to her cranberry juice, wiped away the ring of condensation it had left behind, and returned to her knife and lemon like the drink had been a figment of their imagination.

Of course, Iseult knew never in a million years would Safi leave it at that.

“So when did this happen?”

A surprise spurt of lemon juice shot into Iseult’s eye, but she willed it not to blink through the stinging pain.  Stasis, Iseult.  Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.  “Nothing is happening.”

“Uh, this very loud drink begs to differ.”

“Well, drink it and then it’ll shut up.”

“I’m not drinking your love juice.”

Iseult’s breath hitched in disgust.  “Please don’t call it that.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call it?” Safi asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation.  “You won’t tell me what it is!”

“It’s nothing,” Iseult replied evenly, blank expression betraying nothing.  Because it was nothing.  There was no way Leopold had feelings for her.  They were strictly friends. That was it.  

Safi snorted when she told her just that.  “Right. And I’m the queen of Cartorra.”

“That explains it then,” a voice called.

Both Safi and Iseult looked around to see who had spoken.  It was difficult with the bar crowded as it was. Then, a young Nubrevnan man sitting a couple seats away wearing a crisp white shirt unbuttoned dangerously low leaned forward and cocked his head.

“Why you can’t be bothered to serve your subjects,” he elaborated, acknowledging the people on either side of him with a curt nod before drawing back to Safi.

Safi and Iseult shared a look, one that confirmed the unspoken: this guy was an ass.  

The corners of Safi’s quirked and she turned back, slow and purposefully, to the man.  “Can I help you?”

The flat of the man’s hand slapped the table.  “Now she hears me!” he exclaimed in mock surprise to the crowd, playing them for a response and flashing a good-natured smile despite his antagonizing demeanor being anything but.  Annoyance fluttered in Iseult’s chest as people laughed.  Drunk people were so easily amused.

“Excuse me?” Safi shot back.

A man - no, scratch that - a giant standing behind the seated Nubrevnan leaned down to speak loudly next to his ear.  “May have spoken too soon, Cap.”

More people laughed, but Iseult only mentally rolled her eyes.  Cap?  As in captain?  Oh yeah.  This guy was definitely a douche.

The giant flashed Safi what Iseult assumed must have been a smile, though it twisted unnaturally across his pale face.  Iseult discreetly nudged the bucket of freshly cut lemon slices towards Safi, but she waved her off, not taking her eyes off the man sitting in front of her.  Though, Iseult didn’t miss the nearly indistinguishable nod letting her know she knew it was there in case she decided to change tactics. Now all she had to do was sit back and enjoy the show.

“Are you going to order anything or not?” Safi asked in a bored voice.

He made a show of considering it.  “I don’t know,” he mused loftily, resting his well-tanned arms on the counter.  He leaned forward. “What are the odds of getting our drinks within this calendar year?”

“Slim,” Safi replied automatically.  She approached the counter, meeting his advance with a little extra swing in her hips, a lioness hunting her prey.  “But how would you even know?” she added as she planted herself in front of him. Her hands swept deftly over the burnished wood counter, arms stretching long on either side of her until she was taking as much space as possible.  “You clearly don’t own a calendar. Did you not notice that it’s January? Or do you not know how a button works?”

Much to Iseult’s satisfaction, the man flushed.  He glared at Safi. “I know how a button works.”

“So you’re just stupid, then” she retorted.  A murmur of amusement rippled through the crowd, music to Safi’s ears, and she stood a little taller.  Her mouth twisted as she gave him a cursory look. “Why even bother putting on a shirt if you’re just going to wear it like -” she gestured vaguely to his exposed chest “-that?”

The giant’s eyebrows shot up.  “Are you saying he should take it off?”  He turned to the crowd as he suggested it, opening the heavy-handed question to everyone.  He knew what he was doing. The bar immediately erupted into cheers. The space was so small that even people who weren’t close enough to know what was going on hollered their support, clapped their hands, pumped their fists into the air - anything for a chance at a flash of nudity.  

The giant circled the spot where he stood, towering over the crowd and nodding his approval.  “The people have spoken!” he declared over the noise and the bar responded with another enthusiastic cat call of approval.  The giant’s smile grew bigger and more terrifying. He clapped his friend on the shoulder and gave him a friendly jostle.

But the man merely shrugged him off and sank lower into the bar, keeping his gaze downturned.  Several strands of his dark swept back hair fell across his forehead, but weren’t long enough to hide the crimson flush from earlier that had deepened on his bronze cheeks.  Then, without warning, his rich brown eyes fluttered back up to Safi and he looked nothing like he had moments ago. Now he looked shy. Handsome .  

Iseult couldn’t see Safi’s face, but she knew.  She knew all it took was one look and Safi would melt.  She had learned that the hard way with Chiseled Cheater.

But Chiseled Cheater had never looked at Safi like this.  Chiseled Cheater was a practiced player. He tossed around charming smiles and easy jokes, dished out compliments in heaps, lured young women into shadowed corners with promises and heady kisses - and through it all, his mask never fell out of place.  

Not this Nubrevnan, though.  In his silence, he was completely bare to Safi.    

But a second later, whoever had been sitting before Safi - looking at her like maybe he’d wished they could start over - was gone.  The young man’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed with a keen sharpness.  

“I know you,” he murmured, almost to himself, scrutinizing Safi like he was seeing her clearly for the very first time.  Safi opened her mouth to object, but he barreled through her protests. “Yeah,” he said with more confidence, and suddenly his eyes were on Iseult who, up until that point, had gone unnoticed by the Nubrevnan.  He wagged a stiff finger from her to Safi. “I recognize you! You’re the Breakfast Bandits!”  

“What?” Safi snapped at the same time Iseult blurted incredulously, “They call us the Breakfast Bandits?”

The man crossed his arms triumphantly, rolling his broad shoulders as he leaned back on his stool.  The gesture pulled his shirt open even wider, exposing a generous amount of his muscled chest. Clearly, his modesty had been short-lived.

Safi mirrored his pose.  “So what if we are?”

Whatever amusement the man had gained from messing with Safi vanished.  His tone turned serious. “You’re stealing food.”

Safi gave a disbelieving laugh.  “I’d hardly call it stealing. Not when we’re paying thousands to go their precious little school.”

Iseult pressed her lips together.  It probably wasn’t worth mentioning that Safi had a fully-paid scholarship or that she’d dropped out five months ago.

“Besides,” Safi spurred on, “where do you think all that leftover food goes at the end of the day?  In the garbage. We were just taking what would have been thrown away.”

Strangely, this seemed to anger the Nubrevnan even more.  “That food doesn’t get thrown away,” he gritted out.  “That food is divided and delivered to local homeless shelters.”

“Oh?  And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m the one who does it.”

The space between them dropped dead.  Iseult could practically feel Safi’s stunned shock pulsing off her.  Somewhere overhead, Lizzo cried about great men.

“You-” Safi stammered, reminding Iseult of her own cursed stutter.

“Me and my crew,” the man explained, scowl deepening.  There was no triumph in his voice this time. “We divy what’s left over at the end of the night, load it up in my truck, and deliver it to shelters here and in neighboring cities.  Every day. We usually finish up around 2 in the morning.”

It was a first.  Safi was at a loss for words.

Still scowling, the Nubrevnan shook his head and rose up from his stool.  Standing, he was a full head taller than Safi. He glared down at her, his eyes searching her face.  Despite the obvious contempt pulsing off him, it was almost like he was hoping she would say something.  

But she didn’t.

He breathed in deeply, struggling to remain in control of his emotions, and his nostrils flared.  “You may think it’s just one hash brown,” he finally uttered in a low voice, “that you’re entitled to it. But to someone who hasn’t eaten in a week, it’s the difference between life and death.”

Again, Safi said nothing.  Iseult noticed that the giant was no longer smiling.  In fact, no one was smiling.  And the longer the Nubrevnan glared at Safi, the more fed up with he seemed to become, until finally he succumbed to his anger and ripped his jacket off his stool.  A violent movement that made Safi flinch.  

“You can forget about those drinks, domna,” he announced as he punched his arms through the coat sleeves.  He didn’t look at her. He simply flicked up his jacket collar and spun away on his heel. People stepped out of his way as he marched towards the front entrance in long, determined strides.  The giant and the rest of his crew followed in his wake.  

However, when he reached the door, his hand hesitated on the handle.  His head turned half a centimeter, then froze. Like he had to actively stop himself from turning to look back.  But his gaze slid to Safi anyway, two dark moorings along the brim of his jacket collar. For a second, Iseult thought she caught another glimpse of that shy young man from earlier, but before she could decide if what she’d seen was real or not, he yanked open the door and stormed out into the night.  

Safi stood motionless, staring after him long after the door slammed shut.  Iseult ransacked her brain for something to say, anything... but nothing came.  It appeared that the Nubrevnan had not only taken Safi’s voice, but Iseult’s as well.  

The rest of the night passed in silence between them.  Safi went about serving customers and making drinks, though with none of her previous vigor.  She navigated the bar on autopilot, any exchange made subdued. Iseult recognized the faraway look in her eyes.  It was the same one she wore whenever she was preoccupied with thoughts of her Uncle Eron. The notion that the words from this complete stranger could have the same effect on Safi as one of Uncle Eron’s drunk debauckles made something in Iseult’s chest worry into a knot.  

When the last tankard was hung and the final table wiped clean, Iseult followed Safi and the happy jingle of keys that signaled it was time to go home.  Bundled up in a dark wool coat and thick scarf, Iseult held open the door for Safi as Stix switched off the lights and filed after her.  

At some point during the night, it must have started to snow.  A light dusting of white covered the sidewalk and the cars parked along the street, and lazy, slow-falling snowflakes floated down from the starless sky as the three of them stood outside the Cleaved Man.  After tugging the door handle and making sure it was securely locked, Stix zipped up her leather jacket and happily wished Safi and Iseult goodnight, setting off downtown. Her night was apparently just getting started.  

The sound of Stix’s boots hitting pavement echoed in the distance and Safi and Iseult turned to face each other.  For a moment they just stared at each other, both looking as tired as the other one felt. Everywhere else on their block had closed up for the evening, and after a night spent in the Cleaved Man where the noise never stopped, the street sounded unnaturally quiet.  

“Home?” Safi finally asked.  It felt like forever since Iseult had heard her voice.  Big, chunky snowflakes clung to her knitted beanie.

Iseult nodded.  “Home.”

As one, the girls turned, linked arms, and set off in the direction of their apartment, leaving a trail of footprints along the snow covered sidewalk.  

It wasn’t until Iseult was lying in bed that she realized she never did see Leopold again.