#starscythe

[taudad]

Howdy all!

I’m planning on having color designations on my Crisis Suits to easily differentiate between the different loadouts from a distance but I’m not sure on which color should represent which build

This will be secondary colors to the ochre of the T’au sept I have as the main armor and the white Sept markings as seen on the armor below

Please vote for your favorite and spread it around!

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

A quick guide for people not familiar with T'au weapon systems:

Starscythe Configuration plays like this:

Fireknife Configuration operates like this:

And being at the recieving end of the Sunforge Configuration should look like this:

(There were 14 Fusion Blasters with Weapon Support Systems aimed at you with full wound and damage rerolls, by all legal means you are now dead)

[justanoutlawfic]

Thank you @starscythe for my cute Roni pin!

[ninzied]

Fair Play (Dark OQ)

For @oqpromptparty and for my Jennybean @starscythe, who made this wonderful manip.

15. “You can’t just run around and threaten to kill everyone.” “Oh but you never told me that so how would I know?”

During their time hiding out in the wish realm, Robin comes to really quite fancy his Queen, in all her resplendence and in all her most colorful moods: her heat and her stubbornness, and even the occasional murderous rage – her threats, for example, to raze a village where Robin had once narrowly avoided a lynching (scamming the clergy had not been one of his prouder achievements), intent as she was on revenge until Robin felt obligated to clarify this was not what he’d meant by “keep a low profile.”

But when it comes to defending her honor instead – from that prick of a son they call King, to start off – she sings a rather different tune, holding him back with her magic and a half-rankled, half-wild “You can’t just run around and threaten to kill everyone!” when he notches that first arrow and fixes a deadly stare through the trees at the King and His Guard.

“Oh,” is Robin’s not-at-all-sarcastic reply, “but you never told me that, so how would I know?” and even if there hadn’t been a Robin, please from her involved (soft and entreating and damn it all to hell with this woman), he’s already gone for her, committed to this and the thousand more lifetimes they’re meant to share in other worlds; so he lowers his bow to take her hand, and together they walk on.

[katemulgrew]

#Repost @starscythe ・・・ With the lovely #KateMulgrew #DST #destinationstartrek ❤️ https://www.instagram.com/p/BpiGELlhqhM/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=sbui0mt6q6ko

[gray-autumn-sky]

Let Fate Decide

Robin is a clumsy British artist who joins an expedition to Africa. Regina is a Spanish girl who raised herself in the jungle. What will happen when their worlds collide?

A OQ - Tarzan AU for @starscythe. :)

Regina’s jaw clenches as she stoops in the brush, just beyond the sandy beach, watching as a ship nears and praying it’ll continue on its way and never dock. Most of the time, that’s what happens when she spots a ship on the horizon—it just keeps going until it disappears from her sight.

Most of the time, but not always, and the sinking feeling in her stomach tells her that this time, the ship will dock and usher in all the uncertainty that comes with sharing her tiny island.

Her eyes narrow as she tries to take in the ship’s details without moving closer and potentially revealing herself.

The ship looks smaller than the others she usually spots hovering near the island and, though she’s not sure, she thinks she sees a gaggle of men hanging off the side, looking at the coast with monoculars pressed to their eyes, inspecting their “discovery.”

She rolls her eyes, thinking about how many times her island has been “discovered.”

Usually, the discoveries are made by military ships, but this ship seems too small to be one of those. The British flag waves from the top of the foremast, but there are no walled-in decks or visible windows indicating the officers’ quarters. She doesn’t see any cannons poking out of a gun deck and she doesn't spot gun swings mounted on top of the rails.

And the men hanging off the side look too plucky to be soldiers, and none of them don the red uniform she’s come to associate with soldiers.

Biting down on her lip, she bristles.

With military, there’s a routine.

They dock their ship and row toward the island in smaller boats. They bring with them their loud guns and loud mouths, and they spend a handful of days stomping around the beaches and jungle. They slash vines with their swords and trample plants with their heavy boots, and terrorize the small animals that are unfortunate enough to come into their path.

But they don’t stay, and for the most part, she can stay out of their way.

They raid the coastal village on the opposite side of the island, stealing their food and valuables, and sometimes their people. But at the first sign of bad weather or the roar of one of the large cats that call the jungle home, they flee. They board their ships and sail away in search of a new conquest, and they’re never seen or heard from again.

And that’s how she likes it.

Passengers, however, stay.

Instead of guns they bring with their bibles and an air of moral superiority with them. They cut down trees and build rudimentary huts that won’t withstand a storm. They scavenge for food, plucking berries and making poor attempts at catching fish, and they make the villagers feel sorry for them.

She hates that the villagers always fall for it. She’s seen it happen more than once.

They help the passengers build walls around their huts and they help them to reinforce their roofs. They teach them to hunt and fish and store food, and then the passengers insist on offering some form of repayment. Sometimes, that means lessons in civilized life, other times it means lessons in religion. Sometimes, it’s darker than that, and sometimes it’s a blend of all the passengers have to offer.

And that’s always the worst of it.

That’s why she’s alone...

They don’t seem to understand the harm that they do; instead, they seem entitled to it.

They seem entitled to everything.

Her stomach churns as the ship nears. It’s too close to the coast to not be coming for it.

Couching lower, she shrinks down and her shoulder rise to her ears. She regrets coming closer for a better look, wishing she’d stayed up on the bluff, keeping a safe distance from the beach. Momentarily, her eyes press closed and her heart beats faster, pounding in her ears as her knees begin to shake.

Ahoy! she hears a man’s voice call out, and again, she shrinks back, flinching at her memories and trying to ward them off. She likes that most of the time she doesn't have to think about them, and she hates times like these when they come rushing back to her.

Her heart beats even faster—painfully, like it might explode—and she swallows the breath she’s holding.

She can see the passengers now. They’re still far off and, at the distance that they are, they look harmless. But she’s thought that before, and unlike the villagers, she doesn't make the same mistake twice.

She hears a man’s voice call out something—she doesn't hear the words, she couldn’t possibly over her heartbeat—and it sends a shiver down her spine.

Finally, as she watches two row boats being lowered down the side of the ship, she edges back and rises. Momentarily her legs feel shaky and she feels exposed; but she knows they can’t see her. She’s smarter than that—and just as the row boats hit the water, the turns on her heels and takes off running, propelling herself as far into the jungle as she can, and hoping with everything in her that they won’t stay long.

_____

Robin yawns as he sits up in bed, feeling vaguely nauseous from the light swaying of the ship.

He and the rest of the expedition arrived two days ago, finding an absolute paradise. From the white-sand beaches to the thick, lush foliage to the colorful birds he spotted flying over head, everything was just so beautiful.

The more he saw, the more he wanted to see, and as he kicks away his blanket and reaches for his glasses, deciding that today was going to be the day he did it. After all, he’d been brought along for the sole purpose of capturing the island’s beauty.

He pulls on his pants and a shirt, and hastily shoves his feet into his boots before rising to steal a glimpse in his looking glass. He grins at his appearance. He’s decidedly less green and the dark bags under his eyes that arrived a day after the crew set out on the expedition seem to have disappeared—and now that he considers it, he doesn’t feel even remotely nauseous.

The voyage was hard on him. Prior to signing up, he’d never been on a boat, much less a ship, and he’d been unprepared for just how unsteady he’d feel. Even when the air was still and the sun was shining, he felt uneasy, like he could never quite gain his footing. He stumbled and swayed whenever he was up on the main deck, and over the course of the six-week voyage, he could barely keep food down. The others on the expedition lightly teased him about his uselessness—or, at least, that’s how he chose to take it—often rolling their eyes and muttering comments about tossing him overboard.

But now, he felt refreshed.

The warm tropical air seemed to suit him and now that the ship was docked, he felt less queasy. As he gathered together his things, he could smell the porridge and salt pork cooking up on the main deck and he could hear John and Will planning out their day in the room down the hall, but none of what they wanted to do sounded pleasing to him. They seem more interested in the main land, while he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off the island. Their plans were too deliberate and calculated, too. He wasn’t interested in the business side of the expedition, and of course, their mission was far different from his. They were reporting back to a colonial governor about their findings and mapping out possible settlements, testing the soil to determine what could be grown and which would be most profitable. He, on the other hand, had paid his own way. He didn’t care about cash crops or being rewarded with a lucrative post; instead, he simply wanted to explore and soak in the beauty of an exotic land.

And if he could sell his pictures, that would be an added bonus.

In his bag, he’d already managed to shove his drawing pad and a set of watercolors, a little easel that was relatively lightweight and meant for travel, a journal and pen set, and already, it was bursting at the seams. He had a pouch of crackers that could be attached to his belt loop and a pair of binoculars that could be worn around his neck, but he had no idea how to carry his camera.

He frowned at the contraption. It was bulky and required its own bag. It came with a box of film and a heavy wooden tripod, and figuring out just the right angle and which buttons to press was tricky.

It’d been a gift from his grandmother—or, well, the woman he considered to be his grandmother—and she’d gifted it to him with the exact purpose of photographing this trip. She’d saved for more than a year to buy it for him, and though the Folding Kodak came out earlier that year and was far cheaper, she’d chosen this model because the salesman at the store ensured her that it was the best. She bought him a photograph album, too, that had pre-spaced spots for the 4x5 photo cards.

He’d hate to disappoint her by returning with an empty album.

So, he lifts first bag onto his shoulder and then slings the camera bag across his chest, a low oof sound escaping him as the weight falls to his shoulders. But after a few adjustments, he finds it more comfortable, and when he practices trudging across his room, he doesn't find it all that difficult—of course, the jungle terrain will be more of a challenge, but he decides its a challenge that he’s up for.

He ignores Gold and the others jeering at him as he walks down the deck, and offers John and Will a wave, calling out that he’ll be back by suppertime as he hops into one of the row boats and lowers himself into the water. Then, as he hits the water, he can’t help but smile as thrill runs down his spine. He draws in a long, deep breath and breathes in the hot air, turning his face up toward the sky to momentarily bask in the warmth—and then, after a moment, he rows himself to the coast.

Robin spends the next several hours just exploring. He doesn’t set up his easel or pull out his camera, instead, he decides to spend the day taking it all in; then, tomorrow, he’ll return to some of his favorite spots to paint and snap a few photographs. After all, there’s no rush. The expedition is meant to last months, and today is only the first day. He trudges through the thick foliage, unable to believe how bright and green everything is. He spots vines that look like something from a science fiction novel and flowers in colors he never knew existed. He takes a moment to watch birds soar above the trees and he finds himself mesmerized watching bright orange fish swim beneath the clear blue water.

It doesn't occur to him until he’s deep into the jungle that he should be afraid of the poisonous bugs and plants rumored to be here or the animals ready to tear him to shreds. For years, he’s read about the dangers of the African continent. Prehistoric bugs and large vicious cats, wild-eyed people armed with spears and plants that could strangle the life out of a human. But all that seemed a bit too far-fetched to be real, and every time it occurred to him that he should be worried, those thoughts were fleeting, quickly replaced by his amazement over how strikingly gorgeous everything was.

It was darker in the jungle than it was on the coast, but everything was still vibrantly colored, and thought he probably should have been more intentional about his path, he couldn’t help but let himself wander aimlessly, taking in whatever he could. His eyes were perpetually round and his mouth agape, and more than once he’d tripped over a low-hanging vine of a thick tree root popping up from the earth. He paid attention to every sound and made mental notes of the things he wanted to see again, and the back of his neck prickled with excitement.

All the while, he never saw a soul or any indication that anyone lived in this absolute utopia, and more than once, he wondered if humans had ever even touched this bit of earth. Every now and then, he was reminded that he wasn’t entirely alone though. Birds would sing and little animals would scurry out of his path, and every now and then, he felt like a pair of eyes was watching him.

But he saw no one and never dwelled on that particular feeling, he was enjoying himself far too much for that.

A bird called out and he spun around, looking upward to catch a glimpse of it, wondering if its feathers could possibly be as beautiful as its song—and as he did the weight of his camera shifted and his boot caught on a fallen branch. He lost he lost his footing in an ungraceful fall, and though there was no one around to witness it, he felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment.

He sighed as he looked down at his muddy hands, and it was then that he noticed just how blurry they were.

For the first time, he feels panic settling at his core as he spins his head around in search of his glasses. He sees splotches of green everywhere and suddenly, every sound seems augmented. His heart beats faster as he crawls around, patting his hands in the mud as he searches for his glasses—and then, for the first time, he hears footsteps. He looks around wildly, calling out a frightened who’s there? that goes unanswered, then as he hears footsteps nearing, he holds his breath and braces himself.

But nothing comes.

No animal roars. No teeth sink into his skin, and as a hand outstretched, he squints, watching his glasses come into view. His brow furrows and he blinks at them, but still not moving to take them and finding that he’s not yet able to. All he seems capable of is staring at the thin gold frames as they perch on the tips of a woman’s fingers.

For a moment, he doesn’t understand, swallowing hard as he reaches for them his heart racing as he tries to find his voice, wanting to thank her for coming to his rescue

But by the time he puts them on, she’s gone—completely vanished, like she was never there.

[phoenixshine]

And last, but certainly not least, my OQHappyEnding Week manips, a very happy week organized by our fave, @starscythe!

I admit, I love these the most ;)

[brookeap3]

Love Above All Things

A/N: Second gift for Friday of #InspiredByOQ is for @starscythe and this stunning Moulin Rouge poster.

-:-

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return.

She’s not meant to love. It’s not something she’s destined for. Regina had resigned herself to that fact long ago. People like her can’t afford that kind of weakness, that kind of distraction, when it’s all they can do just to survive, to make it through the day.

But he’d changed that.

From the very moment they’d met, she’d been mesmerized by him, captivated in a way she’s never experienced before. It had only grown stronger, harder to resist the more that they’d gotten to know each other, the more of himself he’d shown her. With his endless hope and optimism, the belief in love above all other things.

It had been seductive.

More so than anything Regina has ever felt in all her years at the Moulin Rouge, with all the men (and women) she’s been with.

Robin had stolen her heart right out from under her like a thief and then there’d been no getting it back. It’s reckless, their relationship far too dangerous when she’s meant to be charming the duke for all their sakes, but she can’t seem to help herself. While Leopold showers her with extravagant gifts and outings, it is Robin’s arms she longs for, his kisses that keep her warm at night and Regina has become addicted to them.

Their relationship, this game they are playing, can only end in disaster, of that she is certain, even in the moments Robin manages to convince her otherwise, the thought lingers, like a looming cloud of doom over them, coloring the time they have together. When they’re tangled together in bed, limbs intertwined and gasping for air, or kissing each other breathless. Or in their stolen moments in darkened corridors of the Moulin Rouge or when he’s presenting her the latest revision to his play.  

Their own personal love story.

It will all come crashing down. One way or another.

Be it the duke, or Cora, or her own secret illness... because she is dying, and Regina can not bring herself to tell him. It will break his heart and she will not do that to him. Not to Robin, the man who taught her how to love. How to hope life could be more.

However foolish the notion may be.

For she and Robin are destined to be a love story that is lost to the whims of the universe.

[taudad]

My “Oops all Battlesuits” list

Summary:

1 Coldstar

1 Enforcer

1 Ethereal

1 Strike Team

1 Broadside

2 Fireknife Teams

3 Starscythe Teams

3 Sunforge Teams

1 Ghostkeel

1 Riptide

3 Stealth Teams

Full list below the break

Ko’Shi Cadre 2k (1990 Points)

T’au Empire

Retaliation Cadre

Strike Force (2000 Points)

CHARACTERS

Commander in Coldstar Battlesuit (115 Points)

• 1x Battlesuit Support System

1x Battlesuit fists

1x High-output burst cannon

2x Shield Drone

2x T’au flamer

• Enhancements: Internal Grenade Racks

Commander in Enforcer Battlesuit (100 Points)

• Warlord

• 1x Battlesuit fists

2x Missile pod

1x Plasma rifle

2x Shield Drone

1x Shield Generator

• Enhancements: Starflare Ignition System

Ethereal (50 Points)

• 1x Honour stave

1x Hover Drone

2x Shield Drone

BATTLELINE

Strike Team (75 Points)

• 1x Support turret

• 1x Fire Warrior Shas’ui

• 1x Close combat weapon

1x Guardian Drone

1x Pulse pistol

1x Pulse rifle

1x Shield Drone

• 9x Fire Warrior

• 9x Close combat weapon

9x Pulse pistol

9x Pulse rifle

OTHER DATASHEETS

Broadside Battlesuits (90 Points)

• 1x Broadside Shas’vre

• 1x Crushing bulk

1x Heavy rail rifle

2x Shield Drone

1x Twin smart missile system

1x Weapon Support System

Crisis Fireknife Battlesuits (130 Points)

• 1x Crisis Fireknife Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

1x Missile pod

1x Plasma rifle

• 2x Crisis Fireknife Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Gun Drone

2x Missile pod

2x Plasma rifle

2x Shield Drone

Crisis Fireknife Battlesuits (130 Points)

• 1x Crisis Fireknife Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

1x Missile pod

1x Plasma rifle

• 2x Crisis Fireknife Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Gun Drone

2x Missile pod

2x Plasma rifle

2x Shield Drone

Crisis Starscythe Battlesuits (110 Points)

• 1x Crisis Starscythe Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

1x T’au flamer 1x T’au flamer

• 2x Crisis Starscythe Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Gun Drone

2x Shield Drone

2x T’au flamer 2x T’au flamer

Crisis Starscythe Battlesuits (110 Points)

• 1x Crisis Starscythe Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

1x T’au flamer 1x T’au flamer

• 2x Crisis Starscythe Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Gun Drone

2x Shield Drone

2x T’au flamer 2x T’au flamer

Crisis Starscythe Battlesuits (110 Points)

• 1x Crisis Starscythe Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

1x T’au flamer 1x T’au flamer

• 2x Crisis Starscythe Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Gun Drone

2x Shield Drone

2x T’au flamer 2x T’au flamer

Crisis Sunforge Battlesuits (150 Points)

• 1x Crisis Sunforge Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

2x Fusion blaster

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

• 2x Crisis Sunforge Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

4x Fusion blaster

2x Gun Drone

2x Shield Drone

Crisis Sunforge Battlesuits (150 Points)

• 1x Crisis Sunforge Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

2x Fusion blaster

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

• 2x Crisis Sunforge Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

4x Fusion blaster

2x Gun Drone

2x Shield Drone

Crisis Sunforge Battlesuits (150 Points)

• 1x Crisis Sunforge Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit fists

2x Fusion blaster

1x Gun Drone

1x Marker Drone

• 2x Crisis Sunforge Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

4x Fusion blaster

2x Gun Drone

2x Shield Drone

Ghostkeel Battlesuit (160 Points)

• 1x Battlesuit Support System

1x Cyclic ion raker

1x Ghostkeel fists

1x Twin T’au flamer

Riptide Battlesuit (180 Points)

• 1x Heavy burst cannon

2x Missile Drone

1x Riptide fists

1x Twin smart missile system

Stealth Battlesuits (60 Points)

• 1x Stealth Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit Support System

1x Battlesuit fists

1x Fusion blaster

1x Homing Beacon

1x Marker Drone

1x Shield Drone

• 2x Stealth Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Burst cannon

Stealth Battlesuits (60 Points)

• 1x Stealth Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit Support System

1x Battlesuit fists

1x Fusion blaster

1x Homing Beacon

1x Marker Drone

1x Shield Drone

• 2x Stealth Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Burst cannon

Stealth Battlesuits (60 Points)

• 1x Stealth Shas’vre

• 1x Battlesuit Support System

1x Battlesuit fists

1x Fusion blaster

1x Homing Beacon

1x Marker Drone

1x Shield Drone

• 2x Stealth Shas’ui

• 2x Battlesuit fists

2x Burst cannon

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

Also those configurations are quite old conceptionally.

Look at that ancient artwork from the early 2000s, that's exactly what the suits are bringing today. In the front the Sunburst, in the back the Starscythe.

[evilqueens]

OQ; say a prayer (but let the good times roll)

inspired by OQ - day one.  the good place au, based on this manip by @starscythe.

Not that Regina truly ever gave it much thought, but heaven’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

A little buzzed, she mindlessly swirls the olive in her drink around as she avoids making eye contact with anyone in her immediate vicinity. It’s her fourth drink, and it’s just as weak as the last three have been. She has half a mind to ask the cute bartender she’s been eyeing for most of the night to stop being so stingy with the vodka, appearances be damned.

Downing the rest of her drink, she plops the glass back on the counter with more force than necessary, and moves off her barstool. But the second her feet hit the floor, she’s hit with a wave of dizziness, and the light buzz she’d been feeling is suddenly ten times stronger. It seems those drinks packed a bigger punch than she thought.

“Are you alright, m’lady?”

Regina turns to see the cute bartender right on the other side of the counter, a small little smirk on his face. “The drinks are stronger than they seem,” he tells her, his voice slightly apologetic. “The upside is no nasty hangovers the next morning, however.”

Oh, well. At least there’s that.

After regaining her balance, she perches herself back on her stool. “Drink of the Gods?” Her nose scrunches up, and she stops herself from rolling her eyes at her own bad joke.

The bartender smiles, and extends a hand. “Robin,” he introduces himself as she gives him her gloved hand to shake. “I’m your next door neighbor. I would’ve introduced myself earlier this week, but apparently you’ve been busy getting the grand tour.”

The breath Regina lets out sounds more like a huff, but she works to keep the rest of her frustration in check.

It’s been three days since she died. Or so the ugly bird calendar in her too-small kitchen says. Time drags here, and she’s not sure if it’s because of how much she despises it here or if it’s just another ‘perk’ of the afterlife in the Good Place.

She knows she doesn’t really have a right to complain. After all, this place actually would be her own personal slice of heaven. If she really was the person these people thought she was, that is.

Regina bites back another frustrated sigh. She doesn’t belong here, and if that hadn’t become glaringly obvious in the past three days, it most certainly has tonight. This party was thrown to celebrate her and the other newly arrived people to the Good Place, and she’s spent most of the night avoiding the all too sweet demeanors of the townsfolk, avoiding her supposed soulmate, and drowning her sorrows in much-too sugary cocktails as she contemplates coming clean about her identity. If only to relieve the pressure of trying to live up to someone she most certainly is not.

Robin places another drink in front of her. “Something on your mind, m’lady?”

“Regina,” she supplies, belatedly realizing she hadn’t given him her name. She takes a sip of her drink, relishing in the stronger buzz she’s feeling, magnified when she looks into the bright blue eyes of her bartender.

“I hate my house,” she blurts. The anxiety of revealing too much isn’t as strong, muted by her buzz, and the upward quirk of Robin’s lips helps settle her nerves.

With another quick sip of her drink, she takes a deep breath and unloads her worries.

[nyllae-shiverflame]

Diluted

“Do you not know what she looks like?” Macelius asked as he gazed out the window down in to the courtyard. Already the guardsmen were seeing to the Lady Shiverflame from her horse and from the looks of it, she had come alone. Even through the darkness the eldest Starscythe boy could see her platinum hair. She looked far more fair than anticipated, given the letters he had received from his sister, Macelius was certain she might have been a fiery and ferocious redhead. Thoughtfully, he took a gingered sip from his goblet of wine.

“No need boy, she’ll be here soon enough. Sit down. You look like a right fool like that at the window, gawking.”

“I can’t help it. You see the words of someone, seeing their personality first and you find yourself wondering what they look like. We’ve never seen her before. How old is she?” Lord Starscythe sat at the head if the table, sending a sneer towards his eldest son. He ought to have answered for he knew just how long ago he took the Shaverflame maiden into his arms, he hadn’t forgotten the woman even when she remarried. The very thought of the past would have straightened his crippled heart if he cared to linger on the matter. The butt of a sheath slammed down on the floor outside the dining hall twice and the Lady was announced.

Neither of the Starscythe men met their audience at the foyer as Nyllae often was accustomed to. Though such a gesture didn’t seem to throw the woman off. As she was announced she stepped in to the room with a black and red brocade and ebon epaults hung from her shoulders, both hands were gloved and her stark blonde hair was pinned back slightly from her face whilst some lay down in gentle waves. She was not overly dressed and wore no visible jewels to show her wealth. The only symbol of her House was the golden pin of a Dragon long the top left portion of her bosom accompanied by a wooden, handcrafted rose. Every bit regal and well trained, the woman performed a curtsey which was met by a nod from the lord Garrelon Starscythe.

“Lady Shiverflame.” the old man finally addressed her and with a stern tone as he waved to the chair at the far end of the table. Truth be told, she was not at all who he thought her to be. The late Lady Shiverflame was nothing like her daughter that he could recall all thanks to the very blonde hair Nyllae sported. A small seed of doubt settled within him as the elder took is seat across from the Mage. Macelius swept himself in to a bow and he regarded Nyllae, “Well met and welcome to the main Starscythe estate. We are both very excited to see that you finally decided to agree to a meeting.”

A scoff release from Garrelon as he waved a hand towards Macelius, slightly irritated at his son’s rather chiper approach. Nyllae however met her half-brother with a small smile; it was hard to tell just how genuine it might have been received, “Well met and good evening.” she replied to them both.

Macelius took a seat to Nyllae’s left, “I trust the trip wasn’t a long one?”

“Not at all. I quite enjoy riding.”

Garrelon smoothed his hands out over the wooden table before folding them before himself and staring down towards the pair, “When did your mother pass exactly? I would like to know.” his very question demanded attention.

Nyllae refused herself the pointed brow she was determined to make in a stout reply, “Five months ago.” “Was she well cared for in her passing?”

“As well as one could be, my Lord.” Nyllae nearly choked out the words

“Ah.” Garrelon met her with and he cleared his throat, “I suspect you have a great many things to handle since her passing and on her behalf?”

”Debt?”

”A little. No more than most would with the passing of a family member. I don’t recall you making the pyre ceremony.” “No Madam, It would have been ill proper for someone of my status to make a presence to his ex-lovers funeral. As you can imagine and possibly speculate, it was best to keep such rumors at bay. Better for you; better for myself.” he licked his dry lips.

“Of course…” Nyllae forced a smile and ever so sweetly, “What would the common rabble think of it all…”

Garrelon stood from his chair and with a singular arm tucked behind his back and the other primly position into a fist at his front, he began to slowly stalk the table, at a closer distance Nyllae was truly able to see her father’s age. Part of him did look every bit as she imagined. Cunt through and through. It caused her brow to knit slowly, “I have a proposal for you. As your mother’s assets are the minimum and bare bones -- scraps if you will -- how do you propose to continue your household with what is remaining?”

“I am still a valuable part of the Tirisgarde, Sir. I wouldn’t imagine that line of work leaving me any time soon. I also tend to odd jobs for a privatized organization.” she offered. “Do you now? It sounds like dirty work.” “Mercenaries? The jobs pay extremely well and I am accustomed to the line of work that finds me through them.”

Garrelon snorted his disapproval and paused in his walk a moment. Something about him seemed as if though he preferred to be a few heads higher than those around him. At this angle, Nyllae could see the scar over his right eye that placed right through his eyebrow, barely missing his eye socket. He just might have been someone skilled in battle or the battlefield having a hand in the chaos.

Disappointing…

Nyllae blinked as she listened on, “I would imagine your mother would have wanted better things for you. A more stabilized way of life and reason to continue the bloodline she fought so hard to continue. Alas, it is practically abolished just by your birth and for being a female. You can rectify that mistake however by baring sons or a higher house and status.”

“I haven’t any thoughts at current to being a mother.”

“Of course you don’t. Such is the reason why men are typically the traditional sense of noble households, daughter. We’re bred to direct them.”

“I am in need of no such direction. By right I am the Matriarch of House Shiverflame now and the legacy that was handed down to me is mine. I need no man to direct me or what should come.”

“You will need to take a husband no matter what you fancy yourself being. Be it a noblewoman of Quel’Thalas or a common rat among the street, if you are to leave anything behind then let it be a generation to continue the line. Or have you not noticed the small numbers of our people as is?” Garrelon’s voice was already rising passionately, “Was it written after your mother’s death for you to rightfully take that mantle?”

“Father..” Macelius offered with gentle warning, tipping his head in his father's direction and rolling his eyes, he knew how the old man could get in times of business.

“Hush boy, you have your wife and two daughters. You know the way of it and everyone must do their part in this family. Half or not!” he appraised Nyllae a moment who was just brimming with words she was ready to release. Her hands were wrung tightly in her lap just under the table, “You still have a son to bear.” Garrelon so coldly reminded Macelius who glanced down to his hands, “Stillborns do not suffice.”

Nyllae furrowed her brow as she looked between Garrelon and Macelius. She had truly not been this privy to how truly noble houses were outside of her own. Despite her step-father treating her poorly and the stalwart dedication and integrity of her mother in her social circles, this seemed to take the cake. She was truly out of touch on how it all ran, “I will say it again, I have no interest at current for having children. Nor do I have a thought of marriage.”

“Oh come now, you’re still very much a maiden. There are several large Houses that would consider you just by the fact you are my daughter alone.” Garrelon scoffed, “You would do our names a service.” “I bet I would but I am unfortunately not in the business of your business…Sir.” she refused to call him father. Garrelon wasn’t a man she knew.

“You are still a maid, yes?” the Lord of the house demanded. “Yes. Though that is not a business I am not up for discussing.”

The Lord of the House narrowed his eyes slightly and said nothing more. The elder moved silently around the table once more which caused Nyllae and Macelius to go silent, not sharing more than a quick glance at once another until Nyllae finally spoke up, “Is there anything else?”

Garrelon barely looked over his shoulder and there was a small stream of hesitation that Nyllae did not catch, “None. My formal business is concluded with you for the time being Lady Shiverflame. I do certainly hope you will make the time for us again in the future to meet your other siblings. They have been eager to meet you.”

A smile barely twisted to Nyllae’s face to hide the sneer she was just dying to release, “Of course...Sir.” she forced once more, “I will be in touch.” the Mage pushed her chair out and Macelius caught it to help her upon her exit, “I bid you and your household a pleasant eve.” with a bow of her head she turned towards the door and made for the exit, Macelius in tow right behind her as if though he knew Garrelon would have instructed him to do so to buffer any damage that might have lingered.

Lord Starscythe listened to them make their way down the hall and he gazed over his shoulder to the curtain by the doorway that lead down to the kitchens, “I want her followed, day and night and stay out of sight. You will report everything she says or does to me and intercept anything her household may send out. I don’t care how or when, just do it!” he spat and the male within the threshold that went unseen smirked, offering a bow. “Consider it done, father.”

“You must forgive him, he is old and very traditional. Nyllae! Will you just stop?” Finally Nyllae paused and turned to regard her half-brother, “Excuse my candor, brother, but I have been my own person for several years. I have gotten this far on the wisdom of my mother and learning to be independent and run my life the only way I know how -- alone! I don’t need some cluster of men walking in to my life barking orders or suggesting what I should or should not do. Lord Starscythe will not want to meddle with me or my affairs, I have no intention on bending to his wishes as the master of his household. He may have his and I will have mine.” A look of warning flared from her eyes and Nyllae pulled away from her kin. “At least consider it! There is strength in family and in numbers!” Macelius called out to her from the courtyard as he watched her look back one final time before taking to her horse.

[ninzied]

Now Is the Time to Know (That All That You Do Is Sacred)

For @starscythe and the beautiful art she made for Dark OQ Week, Day 1: Getting to Know You. Title taken from Hafiz. [ffn | ao3]

Special thanks to @repellomuggletum15 for being a badass beta, and to @robin-of-locksley for inspiring a line in this.

They got acquainted with each other’s bodies first.

One drink had turned into two (he insisted on buying that one as well), and their coy little glances had grown bolder, heating and opening up to one another in clear looks of want.

And oh what a glorious mess they had made of the tavern that night.

It was strange, in the beginning, to know him and yet not – in a purely physical sense, they were nearly identical, these two Robins who had both breezed into her life at a time when second chances felt like something impossible to her.

The same blue eyes. Those same strong arms (the way they learned to hold her, too). Even that scar up his bicep, the long lines of muscle that swooped down his waistline and tensed whenever she traced them with her tongue.

But the similarities ended there.

The way that he moved, the sound of his groan as he pressed into her – trying to remember a different Robin in him was like opening a book to find the chapters had all been rewritten, and it took a few moments of fumbling with this new kind of intimacy for her to realize how little it mattered in the end.

She was not the same Regina, nor the same Evil Queen, and her different with his different came together so naturally that she eventually decided it was useless to question or dwell on it too long.

She’d made a vow not to waste any more time with this man.

—

When they weren’t making love, she felt almost shy around him.

She blamed Regina, in a way. Before, when all she had was her rage, it had been so very easy to take without looking back, to care for nothing but the pure carnal pleasure of killing, or fucking (of laying claim to something, one way or another).

But now, with all of this…lightness in her, every damn emotion had returned to the surface demanding to be felt, and feeling shy with this man was apparently the first means of torture her heart had devised.

Robin touched her freely, kissing the sweat from her neck after a long stroll in the gardens, caressing a hand up and down her thigh at dinner and feigning innocence when she reminded him that they had guests present.

It became habit for her to lean into these moments whenever she felt that traitorous uncertainty again, because it was an effortless thing to let him worship her body when that, at least, had never betrayed itself as weak to her.

She made sure that he wanted for nothing – food and drink and clothing and assurances against boredom that she knew, objectively speaking, he couldn’t care less about – because that, at least, she knew how to control.

Robin had come here with few possessions of his own, save for his rucksack, and a book he kept tucked away in the single drawer that he’d allowed her to empty on his behalf. She never saw him read it, apart from the days when she would schedule trips into the nearby villages, smiling upon her return and dismissing her inquiries with a “Nothing important, my love” before stowing it away again.

And then he would pull her into bed with him, telling her things with his body that would make her forget what else had not been said, until another morning shed its light on their half-tangled limbs and it occurred to her that she might be in bed with a stranger.

There was so much she didn’t know about his past, so much he still didn’t know about hers, and it might have been enough, before, but her heart had begun to want things – things she had not yet learned how to ask for.

Things she was still half-convinced that she didn’t deserve.

—

Robin surprised her, one day, by bringing up Henry.

They’d been fighting about…something. Frankly, it was hard to keep track when they disagreed about more or less everything, but this time was different. More. There had been sharper edges than usual involved, more unrestrained fury over some stupid incident at the stables after her horse had misbehaved.

“What the bloody hell were you thinking, getting back up there? You were very nearly thrown from the damn thing a week ago, what made you think this time would be any different?”

“Well as you can see, I’m fine,” she sniffed in reply, brushing him off when he attempted to help her off the ground.

But he seemed determined not to let it go. “You could have been killed!”

Rolling her eyes at him was, in retrospect, probably not the kindest way to respond, and he’d let her have it then, shouting things about her stubbornness, how soft her heart must have gotten to think she could tame a beast into caring for her.

“He just needs time,” she argued, ignoring the way her back protested when she stood up too quickly, and what did he know about any of this anyway? Since when did sleeping in barns make him some kind of expert on horses? “And I’m learning how to be patient – though certainly not from the likes of you.”

“You know just as well as I that this one can’t be helped.”

She instinctively placed herself between them, everything in her going rigid to keep from betraying her flinch when the horse gave a snort and kicked a hoof into the dirt just behind her.

“You’re wrong,” she told Robin, steely. “He’ll come around. Maybe it’s common, where you come from, to turn your back whenever you feel like it, but I’m not giving up on him!”

His eyes narrowed, a storm obscuring the blue in them. “Yes, and why not endanger yourself in the process?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“This is not the first time you’ve been reckless with your life,” he thundered, “and for what? Because you fancy you’ll be able to make a difference? By loving something hard enough?”

“Like you would know about loving anything other than yourself.”

“Well that’s rich,” he remarked, “considering all those times I saved your arse instead of my own. Or have you forgotten why we had to leave the other realm?”

“I don’t see what any of that has to do with—”

“He does not love you, Regina! You have to let Henry go!”

He did not seem to realize what he’d said until it was too late, and she felt herself turn to stone as she stared up at this man and recognized nothing that she knew in him. He took an entreating step forward, something like remorse clouding his expression as he reached for her hand.

She jerked away.

“Don’t. Touch me.”

“Regina—”

“I think you should go.”

He had the audacity to move toward her again. “Regina, I know that—”

“Let’s make one thing clear, thief.” She couldn’t bear to look at him now, for fear that the words would sting only her before losing their sharpness. “You know nothing about me. You are nothing to me.”

“I know you don’t believe that.” A hint of his anger returned, and how dare he when he had no right? “What we are is so much more than I can hope to understand, but I want this.” His frustration gave way to something imploring. “Let me make this right.”

“What we are is a mistake,” she corrected, her tone growing cold, clipped. Indifferent. She turned away. “Surely there’s a bed of hay somewhere that can stand to keep you company.”

It was not the first time she had run from this man, and as the sound of him calling her name grew dimmer and dimmer, she wondered if she hadn’t had the right idea that first time after all.

—

He was nowhere to be found when she eventually returned to the castle, spent and half-desperate for a quick, hateful romp to make them forget every horrible thing that they’d said to each other.

She took a detour through the banquet hall, where dinner sat untouched at their usual table, the candle flickering and casting strange shadows across the dishware and cutlery that had been set out for one.

“Did…Robin eat already?” she asked, feeling oddly off-centered when a guard hurried forward and attempted to pour her some wine.

“No, mum. He informed us that you would be dining alone this evening. White or red?”

She held out a hand to stop him.

“Where is he?”

“Err,” said the guard, “I’m…not quite sure. He said he had some things to attend to upstairs, but I didn’t – I don’t—”

She left him to his stammering apologies as she swept out of the banquet hall.

Something twisted and dark had taken up residence inside of her, growing teeth and claws until the blackness began to creep around the corners of her vision. The floor threatened to wobble at every step she took up the staircase, and then she was blindly turning down another set of corridors, to the doors that led into her quarters.

Her bedchambers were empty.

But then, what had she been expecting? Robin, bare beneath her covers and waiting to pull her back under with him?

Everything was in perfect order, exactly as she’d left it that morning, but something pressed her forward, and she found herself standing in front of the wardrobe they shared before she realized what she was even looking for.

She nudged his drawer open.

Her chest tightened, crowding out all the air as a painful thudding reached the very edges of her ribcage, her heart suddenly too big, too loud, too much.

What little that Robin had brought with him – his rucksack, that book – was gone.

He was gone.

She heard nothing for a moment, nothing but the sound of her own shallow breathing, a dull ringing noise that drowned out everything else trying to wedge itself inside her head.

A bird trilled out a distant little song, somewhere, outside, and she longed to be gone with a savage intensity, to be surrounded by the scent of pine and every possible shade of green in the sunlight, to drown in something blue that darkened each time she set herself on fire.

She was out of her bedchambers and down in the courtyards below with no recollection of moving her feet, panic fluttering like so many feathers in her chest to think of what she’d just lost, every reason she should have given him to stay.

The moon was peeking its way out of the mountains to stare her down, starkly illuminating as the jagged rock faces began to glow wherever they’d been touched by the light.

She stumbled a step forward, wanting to fling everything she had out into all that openness, to let it pull her apart until the weight in her chest simply ceased to be.

“You’re back.”

She turned toward his voice with her heart in her throat, and for a moment she thought she had imagined him there.

Robin was sitting on a bench, gazing up at her apple tree with a solemn sort of stillness that she hadn’t known him capable of, and there were many things about him that she hungered to learn, this man who already knew so much more of her than he’d ever let on.

“I thought…” Her words splintered a bit at the edges, and she tried again, “I thought you—” before clearing her throat and finishing lamely, “You skipped dinner.”

The smile he gave her was tentative, rueful. “I had thought you might want to be alone a while longer.”

He was turning his book over in his hands, fingertips trailing lightly down its spine with a tenderness that she felt as though it were her own skin.

“Well,” she informed him stiffly, “as usual, you thought wrong.”

The sound of his chuckle cracked open that heaviness in her, spilling out light, and they smiled at each other like everything had suddenly been made new between them, achingly delicate for how vital it felt.

He shifted over on the bench, the look he gave her warm and inviting, and she moved to sit beside him, primly crossing one leg over the other as she rearranged her skirts.

It was the first time, since she’d known him, that he seemed hesitant to reach for her.

She held her body carefully away from his, suddenly unsure again what to do with herself when they weren’t touching each other in some small way. Silence stretched on, settling in until she felt only something monumental would be able to break it. Her heart crept back up into her throat to beat out a half-petrified rhythm, stirring up nerves in her belly, and she took a shaky breath when their gazes finally met.

He looked at her like he’d seen one world end and another begin in her eyes, so much wonder held in all that blue for her, bright with the promise of things she could no longer bear not to have.

She glanced away again, feeling him do the same and wondering if he had a smile to hide just as she did.

“This book belonged to my mother.”

He held it out to her, and when the weight of what he was offering sunk in she reached to accept it, gingerly outlining the silhouette of a frond that had been etched into its leather cover. It was a journal, she realized, each page crammed to the margins with pen-and-ink drawings of different leaves and fruits and shrubs, agricultural charts and diagrams of life cycles that were signed at the corner with a whorling flourish of Lady Locksley.

“My father was, ah…” Robin stared down at his hands, his expression plainly troubled, and she felt she had to look away for different reasons now. “He was very particular, about the plans he had for his son. And brutally unforgiving when those plans were not realized.”

Her fingers stilled in their tracing of an heirloom tomato, itching to be the one who reached out for him this time.

“I told him, once, that my great aspiration was to repurpose his land and actually make it useful. Become a farmer.”

She couldn’t keep the playful skepticism out of her tone. “That was what you threatened your father with? Growing some banana plants?”

“I liked to get my hands dirty,” he shrugged, the roguish ghost of a smile passing across his features when he glanced over at her again, and she was flustered to feel her cheeks heat in response.

“Not much has changed, clearly.”

He smirked at her before looking serious again, adding, “Besides, my mother – as you can see – was an avid horticulturalist. It felt a noble enough pursuit at the time, in place of all the political madness that had consumed my father’s life.”

“And how did she feel about you defying him like that?” Proud, she imagined, feeling wistful at the thought of it as she turned another page. A single feather had been pressed there to bookmark an illustrated section on birds, yellow-throated warblers and robins with full coats of red every shade of the sunset, their wingtips dipped in black.

“I wouldn’t know,” he told her simply. “She left us, when I was very young.”

Regina leaned into him on instinct, but he had opened as much of himself as he was willing to for the time being, and her hand fell back into her lap when he turned his head away for a moment. He was a proud man, hard and impenetrable at times, and she did not think he would take kindly toward her pity. But his impulse had always been to love, she knew, because she’d carried that same weakness in her own heart.

There was a creeping loneliness that came with never having known love well, but there must have been comfort in that too, when that was all he'd ever known.

Perhaps he was just as frightened as she had been to find out what it truly meant to let himself go.

“It was unfair of me to pass judgment on your love for your son.” He sounded strained, throat scraped raw with emotion that prevented him from meeting her eye. “It’s an admirable thing that you do not have it in your heart to give up on him, no matter how cruel or unmoving or—”

“Murderous?” she supplied, tone wry. In the darkmost corners of her memory, there was a glint of hateful green eyes coming toward her, the flash of steel and then the blur of an arrow that just missed its mark when she screamed for Robin to stop.

“Yes, that as well,” he said darkly. “He’s still your son, and you’re still his mother, and I shouldn’t have…” He shook his head, gathering himself for a second before turning back to her, and it was like staring into a moonlit sea, brilliant and blue and powerfully endless. “Please forgive me, for what I said.”

Unable to hold herself back any longer, she moved to touch her hand to the side of his face, letting her nails catch against his stubble as she skimmed down his jawline. It tensed beneath her touch as he swallowed, a heavy drop of his Adam’s apple before rising again, and she felt more than heard him loosen with a sigh as she scooted closer, knee brushing his thigh.

“What are those?” she gestured toward the wall beside him, an assortment of knickknacks and other small objects lined along the flat stone surface, his rucksack crumpled on the grass below.

“Ah,” said Robin, putting on a smile for her as he reached to grab for whatever lay nearest. “This is the very first dagger I owned.”

“A letter opener?” she questioned archly.

“Which I stole – naturally – from my father’s study when I was about six years old.” An artful twist of his fingers and something metal fell into his palm. “This is my mum’s hairpin, which I used to break into said study.” He paused before picking up the next item in line. “And this is a candle that I nicked from your washroom, while you were busy being in one of your tempers.”

“Thief,” she accused him, smiling.

“A fact you were well aware of when you met me,” he countered, eyes crinkling as she bent forward and blew on the wick, a flicker of light igniting and then flaming to life. He set the candle gently back on the stone before turning to grasp both of her hands in his, a boyish grin transforming the lines of his face in a way that made her heart jump. “Now I believe it’s your turn, Your Majesty.”

She would not let herself look away from this, close enough now to leap from the edge with him, two broken things that could only fall apart before they fit together at last. “What do you want to know?”

He raised his hand to sweep a lock of her hair aside, eyes steady on hers as she gazed up at him, and he dug his teeth into the start of another smile before giving his answer. “You.”

[travelerontheedge17]

@starscythe officially has the most adorable little bby pups in this entire world! And we got along splendidly... when they weren’t trying to eat me, my face, my hair, my clothes, my sandals, and eventually my camera 😅🖤🐾🐶 #hearingdogs #hearingdogsforthedeaf #hearingdogsfordeafpeople #labsofinstagram #labrador

[believingispowerfulmagic]

IBOQ 2019 Day 1: “Finding Robin”

A/N: My first entry for Inspired By OQ Week. This one is inspired by Jen’s (starscythe) January manip for this year’s OQ calendar.

  It was a freak accident.

That was what the investigators said. The plane had been serviced and passed an inspection before Robin had flown to South America for his latest relief mission--delivering much-needed medicines to remote villages--and the airport he took off from there certified that the plane was still in good condition. The investigation would take more time to determine why his engine had burst into flames once he got into American airspace but their best theory was that he had hit a flock of birds, probably geese.

They also told her that while there was no concrete evidence that Robin had died in the fiery crash, they were confident he did. They were confident all parachutes were accounted for and they doubted Robin would've jumped into the thick forest he was flying over. He no doubt would've tried to escape the plane before it exploded but they didn't think he made it out in time.

Regina Mills, though, couldn't accept that her partner--in relief work and in life--was gone. Friends of theirs gathered around her and tried to conduct a search and rescue but in the end, the forest proved far too dense. After several weeks of trying, they had to give up. She had to move on, to make sure the organization they worked so hard to build didn't collapse. It felt like she was giving up on Robin, like she was failing him somehow.

Dr. Hopper told her that was normal, that it was part of the grieving process. She tried to believe him but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was out there, somewhere. And she wasn't even trying to find him.

A dream of all things changed that.

She walked through the halls of a hospital, feeling like a ghost as no one seemed to acknowledge her or answer when she asked what was going on. Regina found herself drawn to one particular room--Room 23--and she entered, finding doctors standing around a bed. It sounded as if they were talking in a fishbowl, their voices muffled and hard to make out. She strained to do so, able to figure out that the patient was some sort of John Doe who was in a medical coma for one reason or another. If they couldn't figure out who he was or who his next of kin was, they were going to have to release him to a long-term care facility.

Regina tried to get closer to the bed, to see who the man was but it felt like the curtain around his bed was an iron wall. It kept her from going any farther, forcing her to jump back each and every time she tried. "Who is it?" she yelled, hoping someone would hear her.

Instead of an answer, she felt as if someone kicked her in the chest. She flew backwards, ending up in the hallway again. The doctors and nurses left the room, closing the door behind them. When she reached for the door handle, her hand went right through it. She tried to go through the door, but it was as sturdy as ever. Whatever was going on, she could not get back into the room again.

She just didn't know why.

"Who are you?" she asked, yelling at the door. "Why are you haunting my dreams?"

"Regina..."

Her heart stopped as she heard the voice she had longed to hear the most the past few months. The low tenor with a slightly hoarse quality to it and a British accent she found irresistible. She missed the way her name sounded when spoken by that voice and it brought tears to her eyes. Regina knew it was her subconscious drawing it up from her memories and that the voice would only live on in her dreams.

"Regina, look at me," the voice repeated.

She slowly turned around, feeling like a vise gripped her heart as the voice's owner came into focus. He was taller than her and his blond hair had spattering of gray in it. She had often teased him about it but she loved the fact he was turning into a silver fox. The blond scruff on his cheeks and chin were still blond as ever and she reached out, wanting to feel the prickle of it against her palm again--even if it was just a memory playing out in her dream.

Her hand passed through him though and she frowned. "Robin?"

"Regina, you need to save me," he told her. "You don't have much time. Find me. Please."

"Where are you? Robin, tell me," she begged, growing desperate as he grew more and more transparent. How was she supposed to find him when he could be anywhere? "Robin!"

He faded away as a bright light assaulted her senses, forcing Regina back into consciousness.

She gasped as she sat up, her heart beating wildly. Beads of sweat rolled down her face and her pajamas were stuck to her skin. She pushed back the blankets as she reached over, turning on the lamp on her nightstand. It illuminated her room, revealing she was alone. There were no other sounds and for a moment, Regina wondered if she had gone deaf as she couldn't hear a thing. Everything felt weird, as if she were really dreaming now and what she had just experienced was real.

BANG!

Regina jumped as she glanced out the window, her mind processing that it was just a car backfiring. Another car's alarm went off while several dogs started to bark, breaking the silence and proving that she was awake and what she had experienced had been a dream.

Yet it had felt so real.

She stood and walked over to the bathroom. Regina flipped on the light before running the water to splash it on her face, hoping to cool herself down. It dripped down her face as she leaned against the counter, trying to figure out what her dream meant. It had to be her subconscious wishing Robin were still alive. Maybe it had absorbed the plot of some movie or TV show, casting her and Robin into the leads instead. He was gone. She needed to accept that.

But what if he wasn't? What if he really was alive? What if he had reached out to her to find him?

Regina turned off the tap and dried her face, shaking her head. It was just a dream. She had tried to find him and failed. It wasn't healthy to keep hoping he was alive, not if she wanted to keep moving on with her life like he wanted. Robin was gone. She needed to accept that.

The car alarms had stopped and the dogs were soothed, so all was again silent as she climbed into bed. All but the noise in her head as she replayed the dream over and over. Especially the part where Robin pleaded with her to find him.

She pushed the covers back and picked up her phone, hitting one particular contact before she could reconsider. Biting her lip, she listened to it ring and started to compose the message she would leave on his voicemail in her head.

"Regina?" a sleepy voice asked. "What's wrong?"

Fuck. She didn't expect him to pick up. Part of her hoped that by the time he returned her call in the morning, she would've talked herself out of it but that plan went out the window.

"Regina? Are you there?" he asked, now even more concerned.

"Yes, sorry," she replied. "I didn't expect you to answer."

"Neal is teething and not really sleeping during the night. Tonight is my turn," he answered. "What has you up at this time of the night?"

She sighed, running her hand through her hair. "You're going to think I'm crazy, David."

"Nonsense, Regina. Clearly something has you spooked. What is it?"

"It was a dream. At least I think it was," she said, doubting herself now. "It felt so real. And Robin...he was there."

David was silent for a bit before saying: "Dreams can feel real, Regina. It makes sense you would dream about him."

She sighed, letting herself fall back onto her bed. "I know. But this was different. It was more like an out-of-body experience than a dream."

"You mean you saw Robin in the afterlife?" He sounded concerned and she wondered if he was already texting their friend Archie, who was a therapist.

"No," she replied. "I was taken to a hospital where there was a nameless man in a hospital bed. Robin then appeared behind me and begged me to find him before it was too late."

David was quiet and she wondered if the call had dropped when he said: "Robin is dead, Regina."

"But what if he isn't?" she asked. "What if he's some John Doe in a hospital and is waiting for me to find him?"

"Regina, we searched the hospitals..."

She knew that but she still couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something. "Not all of them. Can't you look for hospitals with John Does?"

He was once again quiet before saying her name with every ounce of concern he was no doubt feeling for her. "Maybe you should talk to Archie about this. He can help you..."

"My gut is telling me that Robin is still out there, David. It hasn’t led me astray yet. I'm going to find him with or without your help." She ended the call and threw her phone onto the bed as she pushed herself into a standing position.

Regina paced her room. She knew David was concerned about her. He didn't want her to get hurt or suffer any setbacks in her grief. Yet she also trusted her gut and it was telling her that Robin wasn't dead. He was out there, waiting for her. She needed to find him.

Now.

She knew what she had to do--go find her husband on her own.

Too excited to sleep, she grabbed her laptop and powered it on. She then retrieved the file she had made on Robin's plane crash. Flipping through the pages, she followed his flight path and found a map of the area around where his plane had been found. She knew all the parachutes had been accounted for on the plane but she wondered if maybe he had been ejected from the plane upon impact, landing somewhere away from the wreckage. There were too many variables for her to figure out a specific location on her own. She was going to have to make do with a general area, noting all the towns he could've been taken to. From there, it was just a matter of compiling a list of hospitals in those towns and then calling around to see if they had any John Does fitting Robin's description. Giddiness filled her as did the one thing she thought she would never have again.

Hope.

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