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amiedala · 3 years

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SOMETHING DEEPER (a mandalorian story)

CHAPTER 1: There's Always Three Things

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, hints of voyeurism

SUMMARY: HELLLOOOOOOOOOOO AND HAPPY SOMETHING DEEPER SATURDAY MY LOVES!!! this is the first chapter in Something Deeper, the

second installment in the Something More series. in this one, Nova is her established character, they're still trying to save the galaxy, and the spice is racketed up even hotter ;) more notes at the end, as always, and until then, ENJOY!!!

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!!! this chapter is quite the whirlwind, i hope you love it! more notes at the end as always <3

Novalise Djarin is absolutely certain of three things. One, that the strongest thing in this galaxy is the green alien baby she calls her son; two, that her gorgeous, commanding bounty hunter husband is an excellent leader but a fantastically horrible diplomat; and three, that she is by far the most skilled person she knows at getting out of a particularly sticky situation.

Nova is excellent at getting out of things, period—her husband would argue that she’s an expert at getting the both of them out of their clothes and Mandalorian armor, respectively—but she excels at somehow, miraculously, wriggling herself free from between a rock and a hard place. And, right now, the asteroid belt that makes up Polis Massa is the abundance of rock, and the TIE fighters right on the tail of Kicker’s infamously sporadic power is the hard place.

They’re relentless. Nova squints her eyes, making the starry backdrop of the Outer Rim split and fractal into a thousand more glittering balls of light. There’s only three of them, this time, but this is the closest they’ve ever dared to follow her to Mandalore, and there’s something dangerous and electric kicking around somewhere inside of her chest. They keep shooting, jarring bolts of blasts that do their best to try and knock down Kicker’s very stubborn shields.

“Stupid,” Nova whispers, her breath low, the ghost of a smile stretching across her face, even in the crush of space. A year ago, she wouldn’t have recognized herself—this fearless, feisty pilot, the fully-formed reconstruction of the girl she used to be. On the ground, even with the Force on her side, she’s clumsy, an amateur. But up here? This is where Novalise shines. She has the upper hand out in the stars, and, besides, even if she were being chased by an artillery of a hundred more, there’s reinforcements on her old, lovable beater of a starship.

“Surrender,” one of the mechanical, ordered voices comes over the comm, and Nova giggles to herself in the darkness.

“Does that ever work?” she asks, flipping the right switches to make Kicker drop down and over itself, sending one of the fighters careening into the nearest asteroid. It doesn’t deter whoever’s in the cockpit for long, but it’s enough to utilize her infamous barrel roll to twist up and away from the other two fighters close in tow. “You know, asking impolitely for whoever you’re chasing to surrender?”

Silence. Nova smiles again, biting her teeth down against the fullness of her bottom lip. Her stomach grumbles. It was a sleepless night and a long day she spent back on Hoth before making the short trek back home—Mandalore, which isn’t the kindest of planets to call your own but is undoubtably better than some of the other alternatives—and the broth-based soups and dried legumes that frequent the base there are not nearly as filling or delicious as the feasts that being Mandalorian royalty entail. Still nothing from the other fighters, which is perfectly fine, because she’s about to feign dropping into warp and leading through a wormhole that’ll lead nowhere but the barrenness of the Mid Rim, but usually, they’re much more demanding.

“Surrender,” comes the voice again, and Nova sighs, cracking her neck, readjusting the familiar, worn helmet still stamped with the orange Rebel insignia. Kicker beeps angrily, and she lends a soft hand to the worn metal of her beloved ship’s dashboard, coaxing the metal to just go a tiny bit further.

“I’m just saying, you might have a stroke more of luck if you’re a little bit nicer. Less demanding, more asking. Who am I surrendering to?” she asks, and even though the TIE fighters are still volleying an array of blasts at the back end of the starfighter, they’re not quick to identify themselves. Nova squints again, catching a glimpse of one of them as she swoops to avoid a larger chunk of asteroid. It was stupid to come here, she admits internally to herself, even though it makes her heart drop a tiny bit inside of her chest. All she wanted for the hours she spent on Hoth was to get back to Din, to hold Grogu against her heartbeat for as long as she could before she reluctantly had to relinquish him to the one and only Luke Skywalker, but when Wedge called, it seemed urgent. “Hello?” she whispers, only to dare the strange, affected voice on the commlink to rattle back across the stars.

“Andromeda Maluev,” the comm blurts, and the sound of her name—her birth name, still heavy and pearlescent with the weight of losing her parents—makes Nova’s heart drop even further. Everyone left in this galaxy that Nova associates with—Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles, Bo-Katan Kryze, Boba Fett, Cara Dune, Greef Karga, and every person she met along her trip with Din through the galaxy and back—knows that Andromeda Maluev is dead, and that Novalise Djarin rose from her ashes. But every single bounty Nova’s had on her head has slammed that full weight of her first identity back into her bones, like a brand, like something she can’t escape. It makes the force of people after her—the shadowy legion of the obscured First Order, and all of their cronies—feel just a bit more insidious.

“Not my name,” she volleys back, but the brace in Nova’s voice doesn’t sound like anything dangerous, anything sharp enough scare them off. “I’ve ran into enough of you by now for you to get it right.”

“We’ve got you surrounded. Surrender or be killed.”

Nova snorts. There’s three fighters on her tail, and they’re nowhere close to surrounding her. It’s so ludicrous, so unexpected, that the laugh catapults out of her mouth and echoes in the small hull of Kicker. She wishes Din and Grogu were here to equally share in her utter disbelief—she can practically see the helmet cocking and the baby’s giant, intuitive eyes crinkling—but she dodges another set of shots, which are almost completely aimless and hardly land on the tail end of the ship. “Be killed?” she repeats, swerving and ducking through another large chunk of asteroid, seamlessly, barely paying any attention to the terrain around her. She doesn’t need to. Even in a field this littered, space is Nova’s strongest suit. She could do this with her eyes closed. “As far as I can see, you’ve landed what, three shots? I don’t think you’ll be getting anywhere near close enough to even do damage to my ship. You’re three fighters strong, and one of you has a wounded wing. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“The First Order demands your services.”

Nova’s blood runs ice-cold. It’s a familiar request at this point, but still, the name sends a very real shiver all the way down her spine, rocking and rattling her vertebrae. She swallows, blinking furiously, avoiding the tailspin of a smaller asteroid as she lurches out of the chase. That wasn’t the lowly voice of some sorry stormtrooper that got the shitty job of trying to wrangle her out of the skies. It sounds evil. Dark. Mirthless. It wasn’t Moff Gideon’s voice, but it was something close to the memory of the dark timbre of it. Fear forms wet and cold on the back of her neck, curling up through the bottom of her hairline, seeping underneath the warmth of her standard, Rebel-orange jumpsuit. She swallows, but the air feels like it’s evaporating out of her mouth.

“The First Order,” she manages, finally, trying to detach the nervousness from her voice, “will not be getting my services. Not now, not ever.”

It’s only been two weeks since Din’s coronation. Two hectic, packed weeks in which her big, brave bounty hunter boyfriend got forcibly turned into a very reluctant diplomat under the watchful—and perhaps slightly resentful—eye of Bo-Katan Kryze. Din never seemed to really need sleep the way a normal human being did, but Nova watched as the bags under his eyes darkened and grew as he spent long hours in the war rooms, buried somewhere in the giant, stark palace they’d moved into, eyelids pressed into the warm hollow of her neck in the early hours of the morning when he made it to bed at all. In the meantime, Nova was spending every single precious second of her waking hours with Grogu, who she knows is on the verge of needing to go back to Jedi training, trying to absorb as much of his small, green light as she possibly can. When Wedge called the other day, though, he sounded desperate, which didn’t happen often, and she had wrenched herself away from her family on Mandalore to try and stop the impending doom of the First Order on Hoth, but it had been yet another dead end. Polis Massa was a pit stop—an impulsive, foolish one—because Nova ran furiously out of the library archives the last time she was here, and she wanted to pick up books on the history of Mandalore for Din and herself, and a small star of yearning in her chest was to spend a little more time in the shelves like her father used to before the Empire killed him.

And as much as Nova wants to put Andromeda Maluev to rest, longing for the days when she was tiny and growing up on Yavin with her parents alive and happy beside her outweighs the alternative. She swallows through the lump in her throat and closes her eyes to shake the starshine of her past lives away. The time to focus on getting the hell out of here is now, all yearning and ache can blossom fully formed when she’s away from the reaches of the First Order, safely back on Mandalore.

“Surrender,” the voice says again, only this time it is the timbre of some sorry stormtrooper and not the one that still haunts her nightmares, and Nova sighs, flipping all of the switches on Kicker’s dashboard to feint left and fake drop into hyperspace.

“I’ll ask you again. When,” she exhales, straightening up in the pilot’s chair, “has that line ever worked?”

“We are granted permission to obliterate your starfighter under Order Number—”

“Obliterate?” Nova interrupts, stifling another giggle. “Is the Order giving you vocabulary lessons? I’m impressed, trooper—”

“Andromeda Maluev,” the voice comes again, and Nova tries her absolute hardest to ignore the pulsing and aching in her heart that comes with the punch of her previous identity, “you are to surrender to the First Order. Failure to comply will result in termination. This is your final warning.”

Nova sighs, pulling Kicker to a temporary halt. If she stares, the ghostly outline of Mandalore, embedded forever in her memory, will flash in front of her vision, even out here in Polis Massa’s gigantic asteroid belt. She knows that the troopers, whoever they are, whoever they’re working for, will understand that she’s intending to go straight back to the strange palace she’s started calling home, but she also knows that any force in this galaxy, no matter how dark, no matter how strong, is smart enough to know they can’t take on a planet full of Mandalorian warriors without all the strength they’ve got. From the way Kicker is paused in the middle of space, she knows it looks like she’s about to surrender, or at least like she’s weighing her options heavily, and the satisfied, smug silence of the trooper on the other end of the commlink is enough to assure herself that her plan—hasty and rash as it may be—is working.

“Okay,” she whispers, feigning resignation, into the comm. “I understand I’m dealing with forces a lot stronger than I am. I don’t surrender, but I’ll come with you. But first,” she whispers, silencing the clicking that the switches to go into hyperdrive with the muffler of her right hand, “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a pause. “So be it. Reeling you in via tractor beam now.”

The unmistakable whirring of a ship forcibly being dragged onto another’s power starts up, and Nova swallows, pushing the second to last toggle into place, keeping a steady eye on the rocketing meter on her dashboard that indicates the ship is fully charged. Under the noise of Kicker being pulled into the largest TIE fighter’s proximity, the beeping goes unnoticed by the other party. Nova slips her hand off the switch and finds the necklace Din gifted her back before he accepted his role of Mand’alor, pressing hard enough that the symbol embosses itself into her thumbprint. “First of all,” she starts, trying her hardest to keep her voice level and even and not reveal a single ounce of the glee that she’s concealing, “my name hasn’t been Andromeda Maluev in a decade. You want me to answer to you, to answer to the Order? You’ll call me Novalise.”

The sigh from the trooper is short, clipped. “Noted.”

“Second,” Nova continues, leveling her jaw with the center of the dashboard, watching every single thruster lock itself into gear, “I am married to the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than the word surrender to scare me into submission.”

Kicker grinds to a halt in midair. Nova straps herself in tighter, just enough to ensure that she won’t be sent reeling across the perfectly aligned dashboard when she breaks free of the tractor beam and shoots Kicker straight into the stars, back to Mandalore, back to Din, back home, and steels herself.

“Stop,” another voice says, tinny and nervous over the speaker. “She’s—she’s screwing with us, sir—”

“I’m assuming,” the original trooper speaks, trying to intimidate Nova with the ice in his voice, “that there’s a third thing?”

“Oh, there’s always a third thing,” Nova volleys back, eyes catching the light of what’s been powering up the entire time the troopers thought she was weighing her options and deciding the First Order’s clutches sounded warm and delightful, after all. “Not only am I a commander in the New Rogue Squadron, not only am I the wife of the reigning Mand’alor, I contain multitudes.” She grins, her teeth bared and gleeful in the low light of space, knowing this is by far the most badass exit she’s ever attempted. “And do you know what that means?”

The trooper in the largest fighter sounds defeated. This was barely even a scratch compared to the narrow scrapes Nova’s been entangled with before. She bites down on her bottom lip, cracking her neck, taking advantage of Kicker’s stationary position to break free of the tractor beam, and as the angry clamor of the three troopers in the fighters trying to reel the ship in starts to filter across the commlink, Nova does what she does best.

She barrel rolls the entirety of Kicker, flipping downward and over so that she’s facing the three fighters, staring through her Rebel helmet at the floodlights drenching her whole ship in florescence that shouldn’t be possible in space, and shows every single one of her teeth, smile stretched so far across her face that it hurts, “My starfighter is Rebel-made, sure, but it’s gotten a few upgrades in the past few weeks. The only reason you got this far was because I was waiting to unload the artillery loaded up in the guns that are pointed at you right now. And you know what they’re made of?”

“All aim to kill—”

Nova can’t resist. She tries, but this whole royalty thing, the whole leading the New Rogue Squadron thing, this whole being a Jedi thing—well, all of it has been tallied up enough to recognize she can stand to be the tiniest bit cocky to the people trying to kill her or bring her in as a slave. She raises a single middle finger, making sure that the pilot of the largest fighter catches her elongated, elegant bird with the floodlights. “Same thing as my resolve is. Beskar, bitch.” And with that, she punches all the thrusters, Kicker dazzling and evaporating through hyperspace, gone before the first trigger even pulls.

Mandalore is quiet. There’s a strange serenity that lives on the horizon, pulsing and shifting, but never quite tangible from the planet’s surface. It’s hard to look at the place where the greatest warriors in the galaxy are born and bred and not see anything but a whetted, sharp arena, but so much of this planet is soft around the edges. The blue architecture in the capital, for one—something Nova knows is much newer than the ancient history of the land here—and there’s a silence here that teeters on eerie but mostly stays in a strange sense of tranquility.

It doesn’t hold the feeling of abandonment, like so many other planets do these days, but it seems like the rest of the world around the city is disconnected. Inhabitable. Nova parks Kicker in the nearest landing bay, watching the strange haze that hangs over the atmosphere, trying to find other places where lights are lit, where people live, but so much of the planet is quiet. It’s the same sort of stark contrast that Yavin had when her and Din got engaged all those months ago, or Hoth’s anesthetic brutality, but Mandalore’s environment feels different.

And, Nova reasons, as she disembarks off Kicker’s gangplank, running the tips of her fingers over the Rebel insignia hidden under the outermost coat of white and silver detailing, it’s likely because this isn’t home. Not yet, anyway, and it might never have that feeling of belonging that the Crest did, that Kicker does, that her and Din found on Naator and Kashyyyk and Nevarro. Nova climbs the marble steps to the palace, smiling at the stoic Mandalorians stationed outside as she slips up the stairs and through the main entrance, immediately cutting sideways up the hallways to the left, watching as her shadow traipses behind her in the blue dusk, trying to not stake stock of the silence that most of the building holds. In true Mandalorian fashion, their holding cells are built into the palace itself, alongside training arenas and the war room where Din spends most of his time. Nova moves as quietly as she can through the halls, up the other marble staircase, and when she bursts into the chambers twice the size of the starship that she and Din usually call home, a gurgle from Grogu on the floor makes the entire day turn around.

Nova grins, dropping to her knees. Grogu beams up at her, his big bug eyes full of nothing but love, and she scoops him up, pressing his tiny, warm body against her chest. It chases away all the chill of Hoth and the crush of space, and for a second, she just runs her fingers over the top of his fuzzy head, pressing kisses to his green skin, soaking in every second she can.

“I missed you, lovey,” she murmurs, and Grogu’s giant green ears perk up. “What did you do in your day here?”

Grogu pulls away from her chest, pressing a three-fingered hand against Nova’s temple. The visions that used to terrify her, the ones Grogu put into her head, filled with screaming and loss and desperation, fall away as he shows her the bath he took, the feast he got for dinner, sitting on Din’s lap while in the war room. As he drops his touch, Nova grins down at him, all teeth and excitement, all of the panic and isolation of the last few hours melting away.

“He terrorized Bo-Katan,” a familiar voice rings out from behind her, and Nova pushes herself up on the heels of her hands, her heart flipping over with the same butterfly menagerie Din’s always given her. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.”

“Hi,” Nova whispers, giddy, watching as Din steps forward out of the shadows. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s been lucky enough to gaze over his handsome face, it doesn’t matter that he’s been spending more time helmetless here on Mandalore, every time she sees him, it’s like the first time. In the moonlight, obscured by the permafrost of Mandalore’s blue twilight, Nova’s eyes roam over the valleys and mountains of her husband’s face. His hair is the length it was when he proposed, long enough for the ends to curl up gently. His mouth, even in the near darkness, is pink and gorgeous, his lips slightly parted in the unconscious way they do when Nova’s the only thing in his eyeline. His scruff is there, long enough to scratch her chin—or her thighs—up something terrible, and the ghost of the mustache she used to feel in the dark is strong, dark, manicured. His eyelashes are longer than the length of her thumbnails, and his eyes, his gorgeous brown eyes, soften around the edges the second Nova smiles.

“Hi,” Din echoes, bridging the gap between the two of them with two quick strides, and Nova feels her breath catch in her throat. Din’s hands, gloved in black and twice the size of her own, balance on the curve of her hips, his fingers digging into the loops of her orange jumpsuit, pulling Nova over her own feet, anchoring her body right up against hers. The way he kisses after only being separated overnight is desperate, longing, filled with words he doesn’t always know how to say. Nova leans into his embrace, head fuzzy, waterlogged, like everything else fades away. It does. She loses track of time, how many minutes pass, the stars behind her eyes dazzling, supernovae, regenerated.

When they break apart, Nova’s hand trails over the regalia Din’s wearing. It’s his familiar beskar, the armor he’s worn since they first met, but it’s been cleaned, and underneath, where his typical black undergarments used to cling to his build, he’s wearing Mandalore blue. It’s the color of the skyline at dusk, a faded azure that signals something more than warrior, something a shade closer to royalty. The material is lightweight, practical. It’s the same kind that every single one of her matching outfits are made out of—Mandalorians don’t have much use for aesthetic, it just gets in the way of practicality—but it seems more vibrant on Din. “How was today?” she whispers into the hollow of his mouth, and Din exhales, low and slow, tipping his bare forehead against hers.

“Long without you,” he admits, his voice barely anything. Nova’s eyes search his deep brown ones, trying to figure out where his exhaustion is hiding. “Come with me. I—I want to show you something.”

Nova nods, catching sight of the dirty orange jumpsuit stretched over her tan trousers, the black tank top she’d spent the past year replacing every time Din tore it off of her body. “I should change.”

Din’s eyes flick hungrily over her silhouette, and when he speaks again, his voice is husky. “No,” he says, finally, digging his thumb slightly into the flesh on her hip, “you shouldn’t.”

The trek downstairs is quiet. Both of them move in the shadows, lulled into an easy silence, their hands knitted together in between their two bodies. Nova watches as the low light of the corridor flickers as they cross over another staircase and down a side hallway, entering through the war room by the back entrance instead of the front, even though there’s no one left in here to try to hide from.

Nova’s been in here at least ten times, but the decoration steals the breath straight out of her mouth every time. A glittering holotable, top of the line, at least twenty years more advanced than the one on Hoth, sits in the direct center. The ceiling looks more like a cathedral than it does anything else, which is perfectly fitting for a group of people who treat fighting as their religion. Nova looks up through the sheer domed ceiling, watching as the moody dusk falls into a silent, quiet night. Stars dazzle and shine from above, and even though they’re not nearly as poignant and powerful down here as they are out in space, the direct line to the cosmos is bright enough to make her throat ache. “Wow,” Nova whispers, voice barely anything at all, staring straight upward, mapping constellations under her breath. Eventually, her eyes slide off of the ceiling, traveling over the careful architecture, the shrines in the corners, the murals painstakingly hand-painted across the circular walls, all of beskar and helmets and Mandalorian history. It feels so ancient, even though the palace was recently rebuilt, reconstructed from nothing during both of their lifetimes. She’s been in here a handful of times before, but never as night is on the horizon. There’s something transcendent about this place, this holy center of Mandalorian worship. Something deeper, something divine enough to make a Jedi believe in them, too.

Din’s standing across the other end of the holotable, fidgeting with the controls until a map of the galaxy sparkles to life in front of them. Through the light, Nova watches the peaks of her husband’s face getting caught in the reflections, letting everything except his face blur out to stardust. “Did you get anything from Wedge?” he asks, and Nova blinks her eyes to refocus on the map. “Anything new? Anything…useful?”

Quietly, Nova shakes her head. “He thought—he called me back to Hoth because of a prison break in one of the sectors Cara doesn’t have jurisdiction in, or I’d suspect she’d have already taken care of it. It was small, just a few criminals with nothing more than petty charges breaking out of a hold somewhere, but he thought it might be related to—”

“The First Order?”

“Me,” Nova finishes, quietly. Her eyes narrow just a fraction, refocusing on Din’s silhouette through the glitter of the galaxy between them. “Yeah, the Order. We couldn’t prove anything, but I—”

“You feel something is coming,” Din interrupts gently, stealing the words right out of her mouth, bracing his strong, gloved hands on the side of the holotable, and Nova nods, watching his grip, starting to get a little dizzy, with lust or with the reflections above them or both. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” she echoes, confirming his theory. “I—I took a detour coming back here. I went to Polis Massa, to try and return to the library archives so I could learn more about Mandalore and bring you back something other than a dead end.”

Din stares at her, his face partially hidden in the glow of the rotating image of the holotable. “You brought yourself back here,” he says, finally, and Nova’s knees buckle a little under the husk of his voice. “It’s hard to care about much else.”

Nova bites down on her lip, butterflies swirling up a storm inside her tummy. “Din,” she whispers, leaning forward on the table, cocking her head in the signature way he always does, lifting her chin slightly with the tilt, “we are tasked with the incredible privilege of saving the galaxy, you know—”

“Fuck the galaxy,” Din breathes, and despite the fact that what he’s wanting to shirk is their top priority, and really has been for months, it buzzes inside Nova, wet and hot. “Let someone else handle it for once. I don’t care.”

“You do care,” she protests, weakly, but his tongue slides out from the hollow of his mouth, and everything else seems to evaporate. “I know—fuck, I don’t know, I know you missed me when I left overnight, I know we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together, but it’s for good reason, and when we save, y’know, the whole galaxy and everything, it…it’ll be all the time in the world for the two of us.”

“I’m impatient,” Din counters, roughly, and then he’s around the table in three quick, determined strides. Nova sighs, letting her body crumple a little as Din moves forward, his hands on her hips, anchoring her pelvis against his. “Don’t make me wait any more for you, cyar’ika, I won’t be able to stand it.”

Nova inhales sharply, feeling him harden against her leg, and she lifts her chin a touch more, enough for their lips to only be an inch apart, enough to make eye contact, enough for all of this to let the rest of the world fade right out. “You know,” she whispers, finally, blood pumping furiously, “you’re the leader of this planet. You could order me to do anything, and I’d be helpless to do anything but comply.”

Din lets out a groan, low and desperate, a choked off, guttural one. “And if I told you I wanted you right here on this table?”

Nova grins, her teeth glittering against the quickening darkness, pulling away only to drape herself over the holotable, face down, letting the spots where her body occupies the space filter out of the reflection. The glow of the lights is disrupted by her figure, and she hears Din’s voice catch in the dark behind her as she arches her back, still fully clothed, an invitation for him to come closer, to take what’s rightfully his. “Then you’d have me right here on this table, Mand’alor.”

She feels Din press up against her, hard against the soft, voluptuous curve of her ass. He inhales, heavily, she can hear it whine through the darkness, not hidden under the evenness of the modulator built into his helmet. Nova knows she’s an expert at getting out of things—sticky situations, clothes, everything in between—but right now, she wants to make Din wait beg for it before she complies. Something to prove that even while he’s the one on the throne, her neck is holding up the crown. At least here. Especially here.

“And if I told you I wanted to fuck you on the floor?”

“Then you’d take me on the floor, Mand’alor. I quite like the floor, you know.”

“You—” Din’s breath cuts off again, and Nova lets the timbre of his voice soak into her. It turns her heart over, first, that excitement tangling up with the knowledge that she’ll let him do anything. It’s been over a week since the last time they fucked, because he’s been spending most of his time in this room, trying to prove to the rest of the planet that he’s worthy enough to hold the throne, and she’s been splitting her time between Grogu and saving the galaxy. All of them necessary evils, deserving distractions, but it’s nearly impossible to think about anything other than the feel of Din up against Nova, his mouth on her neck, his hands on her hips, concerned only with burying himself as deep into her as he possibly can. “I brought you down here to show you the stars. You’re distracting me.”

Nova smiles, then braces her palms on top of the holotable, pushing herself up, gliding her body backwards up against her husband’s. “What an honor,” she purrs, quiet, low, the same kind of voice Din always uses when he wants her so badly it hurts to breathe, “that the king of Mandalore thinks I am a suitable distraction.”

“Novalise.”

“Use me as a distraction, then,” Nova continues, taking hold of one of Din’s gloved hands, guiding them against the curve of her chest, making sure he feels how her nipples harden under his touch, a soft, mewling sound with her mouth completely indicative of the flush of warmth rushing between her legs. “Show me anything you want, oh worthy Mand’alor, please—”

Her breath is cut off as Din whirls her around by her throat. It’s sudden, desperate, the kind of electricity he used to greet her with whenever he finally tracked down the bounty he was hunting and could let loose with her on the Crest.

“Get on,” Din starts, voice raggedly, both hands clenching against Nova’s cheeks, puckering her lips, “the fucking throne, cyar’ika.”

“The—throne?” Nova repeats, breathless. “You want—”

“I want to fuck you on my throne,” Din interrupts, and stars above, she can feel the way that his cock is throbbing in his pants, through the regalia, through the beskar, all of it. “You said anything I want. I want to make you scream my name on the planet we rule while I’m seven inches inside of you. That work for you?”

Nothing but a strangled moan comes out.

Din nods. “Good. Get over there.”

Nova reels back as he releases her. It takes more than a few seconds to collect herself enough to move, and when she does, her legs feel like they’re made out of rubber, elastic and wobbly. She can feel his heavy gaze on her as she makes her way around the holotable, and when she takes the few steps that lead to the ironclad, menacing chair that sits atop the highest point in the room, Din’s voice rings out.

“Stop,” he commands, and she does, feeling her heart hammer. “Face me.”

Nova turns, her breath caught in her throat, staring down at Din. The few steps she’s scaled make her just a tad taller than Din is, and she watches as he slowly moves forward, crossing the tile of the floor with quiet, intentional steps.

“Take your clothes off,” Din manages, and Nova’s almost a hundred percent sure that he’s whispering, even though it might just be that she can’t hear anything over how loud her blood is pumping, over how hard her heart is hammering.

“Now?”

He raises a single dark eyebrow, and Nova nods, trying to peel off her shirt and her trousers as fast as she can. She kicks off her shoes, and they land at the bottom of the steps with a very incriminating thud, but Din just kicks them out of the way as he presses the soles of his beskar boots deliberately against the tile. Everything in here is blue and reflective, even after night has fallen on Mandalore, and Nova catches sight of her silhouette in the floor. Her breath stutters in her throat, suddenly very aware that she’s completely naked and Din, save for his forgotten helmet, is fully clothed, but with the way his eyes are roving over her body like he’s starving and she’s the only thing in this galaxy or the next that can satiate it, she forgets how to care.

“You,” he starts, trailing a single gloved finger down the curve of her body, “are so beautiful.”

“Stop,” she whispers, smiling, everything burning and in flames. It’s the opposite of what she means—she never wants Din to stop calling her beautiful, stop revering her, stop treating her like something holy—but when they’re in a public room that just about anyone left on this planet can walk on, and she’s the only one naked, the risk burns hotter than her desire. “Din, I—”

His finger is on her lips before Nova even realizes he’s moved. “Do you believe me?”

Nova blinks, stuttering over the dying words hidden somewhere between her teeth and the back of her throat. The answer is yes, because Din Djarin never utters a single word that he doesn’t mean, because he uses so few of them to begin with, and also because he’s seen every single inch of her body and worshipped it, but in this reflective room, usually full of figures so much more athletic, razor-sharp, warrior-grade, a tiny bead of insecurity spools down the back of her neck. Nervously, Nova’s gaze filters off of Din’s, flicking over to the ornate door on the other side of the room, and when she looks back, he’s staring at her.

“Nova?” he repeats, gently, and something about the way he’s saying it makes tears spring up in her eyes. “Here. Come here. Look at yourself.”

She lets him guide her over to the throne, which is made out of the shiniest, most reflective beskar she’s ever seen, polished so effortlessly it doubles as a mirror, and Din pulls curls of her dark hair away from her collarbone, fingers grazing the new necklace he gifted her, one hand curling around her jaw, the other sliding down the side of her body.

“Look at yourself,” Din repeats, his touch still so light, and when Nova doesn’t immediately obey, his grip tightens. Not hard, just filled with enough desire to snap her back to her senses—that he took her into this room to fuck her senseless, that his eyes don’t meet anyone else’s, that Din Djarin isn’t a pious man in any other capacity than his Creed and all the rules he broke to worship Nova instead. She relaxes under his touch, her eyes glazing as they travel over the valleys of her naked body. Her skin doesn’t glow in the darkness like it does during the daylight, but it’s a rich brown, three or so shades darker than Din’s. Her eyes, a deep sage green that dips into brown in the darkness, glitter as they flash against the beskar. Her eyelashes, dark and tangled up in the corners from where her laughter lines are. Her nose, not as prominent as Din’s hooked, curved one, but big, slightly upturned, and anchored in the center of her face. Her mouth, plump and perma-stained deep pink from where she bites hard on it in concentration. Her hair, so long now that it trails down to where her curved hipbones protrude, woven into a deeper curl than the natural wave of her hair from the braids it’s always tied back in. Din’s hand on her hip clenches gently at his knuckles, and she lets her gaze shift off of her face, down the stocky muscles of her upper arms, slightly sore from twirling Grogu around and from flying out of her skirmish with the TIE fighters. Her hands are long and elegant, princess fingers, her mother used to call them, dainty and slender, nails kept short to flip all the necessary switches on whatever vessel she’s flying, thumbs worn down with callouses from fighting and twirling Luke’s lightsaber around for the last two weeks, trying to conjure the power he radiates on her own. Down the left side of her tummy, which is rounded and collects weight around her bellybutton, is the scar that Jacterr Calican left in an attempt to rip her soul out of her body, and Din’s finger traces over the bump of it, gentle, endearing, protective. Her hips, which are wide, the curves of her upper legs, the muscles that pack on more weight in her calves. Nova looks at herself and sees, just for a glimpse, just for a split second, that sure, she’s not shaped like a Mandalorian, but she’s certainly desired by one. Din pulls her hair back from where it’s settled against her throat, pressing his lips to her skin.

“What do you see?” he murmurs, his voice deep and electric.

“The girl you love,” Nova whispers, grinning at him in their reflections. Din spins her back around, much gentler than he did a minute ago, all the fire gone, his eyes gentle like the oceans on Yavin.

“Damn right,” Din affirms, the timbre of his voice in her ear making goosebumps spark up across Nova’s bare arms. “Now get on the throne.”

She’s giddy. Her heart is, as usual, racing a thousand beats per minute, threatening to hammer right out of her chest. It’s cold—the throne—cool to the touch. As Nova slowly slides down onto the beskar, she watches Din’s brown eyes flash with lust and longing, and his look alone is enough to take away the chill against her bare skin. The beskar warms to her touch, and she crosses one thick thigh over the other, trying to quell the nervousness that’s still whining at the back of her mind.

“Don’t look at the door,” Din orders, his head cocked to the side. It’s been a few months now since Nova’s seen every single contour of his face, but every new expression not hidden behind the helmet makes her stomach lurch up into her throat. Right now, she can see the tenseness of his command in his clenched jaw, but his eyes soften as they roam over her body. “Look at me.”

“Din—”

“Look at me.”

Nervously, she does. The second her eyes meet his, everything else fades away. In the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s completely naked, her skin up and against something divine, something not meant for her, this throne that she’s about to be desecrated on.

And sweet Maker above, she doesn’t even care. Din slowly canvasses the distance between the two of them, the intensity of his gaze never once wavering off of Nova’s face. The pure look of animalistic desire on his unmasked face makes her whimper under her breath. If she were weaker, she would cower away, avert her eyes, but by this point, she’s earned her brazenness. There are exactly two things in this galaxy that the ruler of Mandalore, the most ruthless bounty hunter, and the man in front of her would do anything for. Grogu and Nova.

He doesn’t make a noise. Everything is an electric wire as he finds his secure, silent footing on the first step, and Nova’s heart catches in her throat. She wants to say something, to make a silly comment, to cut through the tension, but she knows that whatever’s about to follow Din’s ascent will be worth her quiet. Instead, Nova bites down on her trembling lip, watching the rest of the throne room disappear as Din steps closer, still not making a single noise, pulling his body weight up the lip of each step, staring at her.

“What?” she manages, finally, the word all air.

Din moves closer. Nova’s seated against the throne, the beskar suddenly warm against her bare skin. Everything in her is burning. “What do you want?” Din asks, his voice deep, rumbling through her like a honeyed thunderstorm. He doesn’t even have the modulator to filter his words, and even though the deepness of his voice through the helmet runs rivers through her, Nova’s suddenly glad for the bareness of all of this. It makes it easier, dirtier, better.

“I want you,” Nova manages, hollowly, the words surrender out of her parted lips. “Just you.”

“You want me?” Din repeats, and a flash of lust sparks up behind his beautiful brown eyes. There’s something dangerous in his tone, something deeper, something electric. She stares at him, unwilling to break his gaze. If it were anyone else, Nova would think that the timbre of Din’s voice was teasing, but the edge to it suggests towards pleading.

“Yes,” Nova echoes, and Din moves forward, towering over her. She stares up at him as one gloved hand easily notches against her right cheek, eyelashes fluttering as the pad of Din’s fabric-laden thumb traces over the mountain of her cheekbone. “I want you, Mand’alor—”

“I’m not Mand’alor right now, cyar’ika,” Din interrupts, his voice low and ragged, sparking somewhere in his throat. “Look at who’s on the throne.”

Nova gulps. Air is suddenly impossible to come by. Everything in her is electric, alive. Everything else fades out except for Din’s touch. Her doubt, her insecurity—it’s all been chased away and zapped into obliteration by the way Din’s speaking, touching, breathing. “I—”

“Say my name,” Din says, hooking his free hand under Nova’s chin. She swallows, letting the roughness of his gesture manipulate her body in any way that he wants, pliable against Din’s weathered hands. “Say you want me.”

“Din,” Nova squeaks out, and a single one of his dark eyebrows quirks up against the celestial darkness of the throne room, daring her to speak. “Din Djarin,” Nova rectifies, her voice suddenly loud and clear. It booms out, fills the throne room with sound. For once, the buzzing in her head completely drowns out her fear of being discovered. This palace doesn’t exist. Anyone walking the strange, ornate, blue halls doesn’t exist. Stars above, Mandalore itself doesn’t exist at this point. She’s emboldened, as if her will has flooded back, full-force. “Three things. There’s always three things included in how I want you. I want you without armor. I want you without titles. I want you like I had you back on Dagobah.”

“And how,” Din whispers, his voice running through Nova like heat, “is that?”

She gasps as Din’s hand slowly slips down to her throat, bracing itself there. He barely squeezes, and without all of her senses screaming at her that Din’s hand is against her, she thinks his touch would feel like a ghost, like nothing there at all. “Like we belong to each other,” Nova manages, and Din’s grip intensifies. It’s a slip. She can tell, with the way that his eyes roll back, with the way that a moan slips out from the hollow of his open mouth. Stars blur through her vision—some refracted from the open sky up above, and some from the restriction to her airflow, and she leans into the pressure just as Din retracts his grip.

“Cyar’ika—”

“I belong to you,” Nova whispers, the words sounding like a confessional, deeper and darker than she intended. Her hands find Din’s, wordlessly pulling his hand back to rest like a vice against her throat. “Everything in me is yours. Remember?”

Din squeezes again, and the grin that was hiding slowly spreads across Nova’s face. She knows that in the darkness, her teeth glow white, framed by the plump pinkness of her mouth. Din’s standing, still fully clothed, but she can tell by the way his grip tightens against her throat that he’s rock hard under all that beskar.

“Din,” she manages, her voice high and thready through the pressure of his hand, “what do you want?”

“I want you,” he chokes out, guttural and dangerous, his voice coming from somewhere beyond the horizon. Immediately, he pulls Nova to her feet by her throat, eyes flickering carefully over her own gaze to double-check that what he’s doing isn’t too far. She smiles back at him, and when she’s fully standing, smile still plastered across her starstruck face, she drops her grip on Din’s wrist and immediately moves to unhook his armor. She could do it in the dark. She could do it blind. By now, Nova’s memorized every single inch of Din’s body, whether he’s armored in all of his beskar or not. Even the new additions to his regalia since becoming Mand’alor are burned into Nova’s memory, bright and gleaming. She doesn’t break Din’s gaze as she undresses him, pulling the pauldrons off, the chest plates, the silver V of covering that protects his lower stomach and his crotch. It’s over in what feels like seconds, and then the only thing covering Din is the soft fabric of his underclothes. Nova tugs at his trousers first, pulling them down to reveal the silky feeling of his boxers. She positions herself in between Din’s legs, grabbing his right hip to anchor his hardness against her, and he groans out again, the desperate, wet sound filling up the throne room. It's loud. Too loud. The kind of loud that Din never reaches, not unless they’re the only two people on a planet, not unless they’re lost out there in the crush of space. If his cheeks redden at the sound, though, Nova doesn’t catch it, because her touch is too focused, her vision still spinning off starry, impassioned, loud. Slowly, she reaches up through Din’s weakening grip to pull the shirt off of his torso, breath catching in her throat as she takes the King of Mandalore without armor, without clothes, without anything. Nova smiles up at Din, blinking away the small tears of pleasure that gathered in the corners of her eyes, and then she sinks back down on the throne, squaring her shoulders, tossing her loose hair out of her face, eyes full of allure and desire.

“I want you,” she echoes, and then her mouth is on his stomach. Din gasps out, the sound of it ringing out like infernal bells, and Nova hides her teeth as she grins against his stomach, tongue swirling up and down his belly, fingers grazing like butterfly wings across the bones of his hips. She can feel him growing harder and harder as she teases, parting some of the faint hair that trails down his stomach with the wetness of her mouth. Din’s hands find her shoulders, and his fingers clench down, leaving small half-moons imprinted on either side of her neck. “Can I taste you?”

“W—want you,” Din chokes out, his voice demanding and desperate, but the rocking of his hips against her chest betrays him, and before he can make good on his command, Nova’s already slid every inch of him down her throat. She moans in rhythm with him, as Din’s hands leave her shoulders in a frenzy and instead tangle in her hair, wanting. Quietly, Nova swirls her tongue around the base before she pulls off of his cock with a loud, slurping, sucking noise, and she doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed before she’s sinking her mouth all the way down over Din again, the tears that have returned at the corners of her eyes springing back to life. They feel like satisfaction. She can feel him trembling, and when she drops one of her hands between his legs, lightly cupping his balls, Din cries out again. “Nova—”

“Shh,” she interrupts, which is truly a feat, considering her mouth is full of him and her saliva and not much else, “let me finish you here.”

“No,” Din interrupts, and his voice is strangled, muddled. Immediately, Nova does, pulling her mouth off of him regrettably, blinking up at him, lower lip slowly jutted out. “I k—fuck, I know you wanted to finish me like this, but—but I need you to break in my throne.”

A jolt of lightning strikes through Nova’s body, and she shudders as Din’s shaking grip finds the small of her back and pulls her to her trembling feet. For a moment, everything else evaporates, just the two of them breathing and holding each other, Din’s forehead stooped low to press against hers, and then he whirls her around.

Nova’s used to Din’s manhandling, the expert way he spins and lifts her, like she’s made of nothing but air. This is much clumsier than his usual vigor, and when she’s done a complete 180 and is facing her husband, Mand’alor, the big brave bounty hunter, he’s seated on his throne like he owns it, and his hands are on Nova’s hips in the same place where she was sitting a second ago. There’s something deeper and more intense in his gaze right now, something beyond just lust. It’s power, Nova recognizes as Din pulls her hips down, her knees splaying to the sides of the beskar throne. The metal is unyielding against her bones, but still, she doesn’t feel the impact. Din has collapsed her on top of him, the only thing keeping her upward is his grip and her knees trying desperately to cling onto the straddling position that Din’s holding her in.

For a moment, she just stares at him. He looks like divinity, here, something deeper than just another human being in front of him. Nova doesn’t know if it’s the starry sky spinning through the throne room, or because this feels like a holy place of worship, or if it’s just been weeks since they’ve had longer than a handful of minutes at the end of the day before they both fall asleep, too exhausted and dizzied by their work to touch each other relentlessly, but she feels like she’s spinning. Like this has been months in the making, even though it’s only been a handful of days since Din pulled her down over his lap and anchored her hips to his. Her eyes are on his, desperate, searching. When a single hand trails up to brush against her throat, she eagerly leans into his touch, nodding before his outstretched hand makes contact with her neck, skin on skin.

“You want this?” Din breathes, eyes fixed on her open mouth, and Nova nods against his question, his touch, everything.

“More than anything,” she manages, voice throaty and high, stars spinning beyond her eyes. Din nods in assent, and then his hand is gone, a claw rounded around her hipbones, his fingernails sinking into the plushy flesh. The way he holds her as he grinds her down on top of him is enough to make the rest of the world—and every insecurity—trickle out of Nova. When he pushes inside her, slick and warm and so big from this position, she gasps, the sound of it wet and obscene, too loud for the silent room.

“Fuck,” Din hisses, and then Nova starts moving of her accord. She can’t really feel her knees as they dig into the smooth, impenetrable surface of the beskar throne, but it doesn’t even matter. This is worth never feeling either patella ever again. There’s something humming low and urgent in Din’s throat, his scratchy face buried in Nova’s neck, tongue licking and snapping at her most sensitive pulse point. She groans. “You—you’re perfect, cyar’ika.”

“Not perfect,” she murmurs, hands wrapping around Din’s neck and tangling in his dark hair, eyes fluttering open enough to catch a glimpse at it, her fingers long and beautiful as they tug at his hair.

“Listento yourself,” Din pleads, one of his strong, toned arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her down over and over. In any other situation it would be embarrassing, the sucking noise coming ceaselessly between her thighs, but she’s so wet and so close to the edge that she doesn’t try to obscure it, and doesn’t try to fight Din’s insistent, guttural words. “You’re perfect. Everything about you. Your hips, the—the way they move. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as I fuck you. Shit, Nova, everything about your pussy, I—”

She can feel her cheeks burning. It’s not often that Din is this vocal, this unhinged, especially not in this situation. It’s dirty and forbidden, and as she bounces up and down on his cock, eyes rolled back like he loves, everything wet and slippery between her legs, she forgets all about the fact that they’re naked and desecrating the throne of Mandalore. It’s everything. It’s so much, and when she’s right on the edge of orgasm, Din grinds his hips up into her.

“Din—”

“I want to show you off,” he grits out, and before she can ask him what he means, he’s lifting her off of him like she weighs fucking nothing, pushing himself down to the hilt inside her as she watches the empty throne room, the empty seats around the holotable, watched by the lifeless warriors painted on the wall. She doesn’t try to hide any part of her body. Din’s still whispering every dirty sound he can think of in her ear, one broad arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand tangled up in Nova’s hair.

“To whom?” she asks, the words barely even air. She’s on the edge still, eyes blinking, torso trembling. She wants Din to let her cum so bad, she can barely hear what he’s saying over the pumping rush of blood in her ears.

Din lifts up a lock of hair, the same stubborn wave that always falls in her face, tucking it gently behind her year. For a second, she sees red, legs shaking, completely subject to whatever Din’s doing. “Everyone,” he whispers, and the shock of how guttural and feral his voice sounds sends Nova right over the edge she’d been teetering on. He makes her cum so hard that everything explodes out into the same number of stars shimmering above, divine and dangerous, white-hot, so, so alive. And before she has a chance to gain her senses back, Din’s dragging and rushing as deep into her as he can, every inch of him warm and desirable, and when he lets go to follow Nova over the edge of the cliff they’re both standing on, she gasps as he fills her, hot and thick. It’s so much harder than the last time they fucked, both of them devastated, exhausted, fulfilled.

Nova leans back against Din’s chest, heaving, spinning, trying to catch her breath. They’re both inhaling and exhaling intently, trying to return back to the planet they rule, to the throne they just fucked on. “Well,” she starts, pulling the long waves off her back, looking over her bare shoulder at Din, “wow.”

He laughs, and he’s still inside her, slowly softening as he comes back down from the high of it, pressing his pink lips against her exposed skin. “High praise.”

“It’s the truth,” she whispers, giggling, suddenly remembering where they are. “I—I can’t believe we just did that—”

“We’re newlyweds,” Din interrupts, his voice still rough from the aftermath of sex, and something sparks up low in Nova’s belly as he talks, “plus I’m the ruler of this planet, remember?”

She grins, tipping her shoulder back into his bare chest, trailing her fingers over his tan skin, tracing fault lines she’s never seen but knows are there. “I like power on you.”

“Nova—”

“No, seriously,” she continues. “It’s hot. Do you get a crown, maybe? Do I?”

“I think one of us will have to duel Bo-Katan for that one,” Din groans, and Nova laughs again, sliding off of his lap, slowly pulling together the pieces of armor she discarded earlier, tossing them through the dark air for Din to collect. The mention of Bo-Katan, though, sends a shiver of a reminder down Nova’s very exposed spine. She pulls her own underclothes on, quickly whipping her tank top back over her head, suddenly remembering how cold it is in here when she’s not writhing between the proverbial sheets with her husband. She bites down on her lip, hastily zipping her trousers up, the noise loud and discordant. “Nova,” Din continues, squinting at her, “what’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she says, dazed, tossing the last piece of armor back over to him, “you know, we—we just desecrated a holy part of Mandalore, we don’t know how the hell to fight off the First Order, and Bo-Katan is probably standing right outside that door, ready to kick both of our asses.”

“She,” Din answers, pushing against the heavy beskar doors, “is not here. We’re working on how to stop the Order. And this holy part of Mandalore,” he breathes, walking back towards her, one eyebrow raised, as if he’s questioning the way his face is displaying expression, “is ours to desecrate.”

“When you said,” Nova breathes, staring back at him, everything else fading out, “that you wanted to show me off to everyone—”

Din suddenly looks sheepish, and she giggles. “Nova, I didn’t—I was just into the moment, if you don’t want to—you never have to, I—”

She grins, smile glittering in the dark, sliding past him and into the empty hall, drifting in the general direction of their bedroom. “I didn’t say,” she whispers coyly, holding out one hand for Din’s gloved one, “that I didn’t want to.” She winks, pulling a still-stammering Din behind her. “I just can’t believe you want to share me with anyone.”

They’re up the stairs and back to the entrance to the master bedroom, and Din finally finds his words—or his grip—and grabs her, twirling Nova back into his arms with the force of the bounty hunter that he used to be. “You’re mine,” he whispers. “I won’t let a single person in this galaxy forget it.”

Nova grins, heart doing backflips in her chest. By the time they finally make their way into the suite, it’s dark across the whole wide expanse of sky, and Grogu is asleep in their bed, comically small compared to the king-size that takes up most of the room. “I know,” she whispers, looking back and forth from her husband to their son, a smile etched into her lips. “We should get to bed,” she murmurs, after a second, and Din nods, pulling off the armor and his underclothes in his silent Mandalorian way, Nova weaving her hair back into her usual braid, feeling the bruises from her knees banging forcefully into the beskar throne.

“What’s on your schedule for tomorrow?” Din asks, both of them gently pulling the pillows that line the bed onto the ground, until it’s empty except for their usual spread and the baby’s tiny body. His eyes drift down to Grogu, and so do Nova’s. He knows. She knows. Neither of them want to say it aloud. It’s time for Grogu to go back with Luke and resume his Jedi training, even though none of them want him gone. Nova swallows.

“You know,” she tries, halfheartedly trying to lift her voice into excitement, “Back to business.”

Din rolls over, facing Nova in the darkness. “You don’t have to,” he whispers, and she knows losing Grogu again, even though it’s to Luke Skywalker, even though they’ll be able to fix it, is wreaking havoc on him too. Nova settles down next to him, ears focused only on the miniscule snores of Grogu’s open mouth, her hand finding Din’s, her eyes falling over where Luke’s lightsaber is hanging ceremoniously by the door.

“But I do,” she answers, finally, closing her tired eyes. “We have a galaxy to save. And I,” she breathes, snuggling in closer to the baby, “have a Jedi to see.”

if you would like to be taken off the taglist or put on it, send me a message/ask/comment!! <3

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!! whether you're a returning reader or a longtime lover, i m so happy you're here with Din, Nova, Grogu, and me. i just simply could not stay away from this story, and i cannot wait to go across the stars and back with the second fic in the series!! leave all your thoughts in the comments here, or find me over at tumblr @ amiedala, or scroll through my tiktok @ padmeamydala

CHAPTER 2 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 11TH, @ 7:30 PM EST!

xoxo, amelie

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myjjbaby · 4 years

Note

okay so the idea is reader taking one (or many) of jj's shirts without asking him, and every time he sees her with one of his shirts on he's like 🥺🥺 and finally she says she likes his smell and wears them because of that and idk some fluff (sorry if this is bad it was just an idea i had)

white t-shirt

author’s note - this kinda deviated from the original request but it just happened because your girl is angsty. happy first time writing in a month to me!! (apologies in advance im rusty). thank you to lisa @angellissy for being my hype woman as much as im yours because this wouldn't happen without you so. couple folks who i love who asked to be tagged so: @baby-bearie @dpaccione (taglist? yes or no? someone want to teach me how?) please also know that even as my dash returns to normal and im writing this doesnt mean ive stopped or anyone else should stop advocating for black lives matter so please do all you can loves :))

synopsis - requested by @strkydrw! JJ isnt used to public affection and it creates a wedge between the two of you. which JJ isnt about to let happen.

warnings - mentions of anxiety, smidge of angst, and a swear cause i felt like it. 1.7k of comfort!boyfriend!JJ

JJ Maybank was not one for public displays of affection. He was so used to going it alone that he couldn’t fathom someone wanting to love him for the whole world to see. You were okay with it, really you were, it was just something that made the blonde who he was.

Through your time together he became more lenient. A short peck in front of the Pogues or rough fingertips brushing the skin of your waist when your shirt rose up at a kegger. He loved you and that’s all you could ask for.

But to say you weren’t needy for his affection would be a complete lie. Curling into his side at the Kook’s walk-in movie, being able to love on your perfect boy for the whole world to see, but little hand touches were enough for you if it meant JJ was yours.

You had a bad day. A crap day. Everything that could’ve gone wrong, did and now you want your boyfriend. You needed JJ’s arms to wrap you up and push all your worries away. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen.

You were at a party at the Boneyard, like most summer nights on Outer Banks, and your personal security blanket was far too busy by the keg to take notice of you. Pope was sitting next to you on a piece of driftwood. The sweet boy had a knack for reading you and the Pogues like an open book. He could spot your glowering from just about anywhere.

“Pope, I’m fine.”

“Yeah and I’ll leave you alone when I believe you.”

“Pope,” he glared at you, “okay, okay.”

The two of you settled into a calm silence. Pope sipped at his plastic water bottle, which Kie had already ratted him for, and you fiddled with your fingers, relaxing at JJ’s smile in the distance. A frown slipped over your features just as quickly as your sweet smile had appeared.

“Y/N?”

Turning your head to the dark skinned boy, you appreciated his concerned smile but honestly you’d rather bask in your misery alone if you couldn’t have your blue-eyed boy.

“I’m gonna walk home,” Pope’s eyes followed your movement as you stood, “tell JJ for me?”

Now he knew something was off, though you and your boyfriend were never outwardly affectionate, Pope knew of the silent love you shared. The fact you didn’t want to tell JJ you were leaving nor grasped the opportunity to squeeze the blonde’s hand was unsettling.

He watched you slip away, staying out of the firelight so JJ had no chance of catching your departure. He waited until you disappeared over the dune and started your short walk back home before practically bounding across the beach and gripping JJ’s bicep.

“Woah Pope, quite the grip there.”

“Y/N went home.”

“What?”

“Y/N left.”

The blonde quickly scanned the sandy beach, eyebrows furrowing when he didn’t find your familiar figure. He glanced back at Pope.

“Do you know why?”

“She seemed upset.”

“What? Why didn’t sh-”

“I don’t know, but that’s not the point,” he flicked the side of JJ’s head, “the point is that your girlfriend needs you so bust a move.”

Pope barely got the last words out before the blue-eyed boy practically sprinted through the crowd.

You were a mess by the time you reached your familiar grey house with tears streaming down your cheekbones as the screen door slammed behind you. You pushed your way through the house, feeling your legs ready to give out under your weight.

You slipped out of your clothes and goosebumps rose across your skin, the summer breeze chilled against your tanned skin. Pushing your jackets and sundresses aside in your closet, you reached for the worn white t-shirt tucked behind the rest of your clothes. The stained Pelican Marina shirt was one of your prized possessions. JJ had asked you about the article of clothing before saying how he lost it and wondered if you had seen it.

You denied everything.

The t-shirt always calmed you, the smells of the salt air and JJ’s weed, it made you feel like you were curled up in his hold. With just his shirt on, you slid under your blankets and pulled the knitted fabric to your chin. You tried to ignore the wetness of your skin and the pinch in your chest that even JJ’s aroma couldn’t solve.

You were so distracted by your waves of emotions you nearly missed the soft revving of the motorbike in your driveway. Your heart clamped when you heard the soft murmurs between your boyfriend and your dad as they undoubtedly worried about your off demeanor.

“Y/N?”

Your breathing felt erratic as you quickly closed your eyes, praying you wouldn’t have to admit anything to JJ. You waited for him to leave after a soft sigh slipped through the crack beneath your door, but instead you heard the familiar creak of wood against rusted hinges.

You silently thanked your past self for laying down with your back to the wall because you knew you’d crack under JJ’s crystal gaze. Willing your lungs to settle, you felt his familiar warm touch settle over the fabric of his shirt you were wearing. The soft movement of his fingers kneading into your back nearly caused a whimper after longing for the boy’s touch for so long.

“Baby? I know you're awake.”

Mentally cursing your boyfriend, you rolled over to your side as JJ pressed his body closer to yours, practically laying on the bed now.

“Hi.”

“Hi sweet girl.”

He sweetly pressed his lips to the tip of your nose, smiling against the skin when he felt your cheek against his hand warm up. The blonde tried to pull back to admire your flushed features but you hid your face in his neck. You smiled when your actions emitted a chuckle from the boy which filled up the silence in your room.

This was what you wanted more than anything. Your perfect, loving JJ holding you close and kissing you tenderly, but not like this. You wanted to feel adored outside of the safety of closed doors and four walls, but that wouldn’t happen. You pouted at your ruined daydream.

“Hey, hey,” JJ felt your frown against his tanned skin, “baby, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Y/N…”

“Really, it’s nothing, J, can we just forget it?”

“No.”

“J-”

“Tell me.”

You stayed silent, breathing in his presence, the pinch in your chest finally releasing.

“Baby, please?”

“Are you embarrassed by me?”

“What?”

He pulled away from your touch as he frantically searched for some kind of explanation in your eyes.

“Sweet girl? Why would you ever think that?”

“You’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“That’s not true.”

“You have to force yourself to kiss me in front of your friends and you won’t talk to me, much less touch me in public. It’s like I’m dating different people, JJ. The boy I fell in love with and some guy who’d never give me the time of day.”

“Bab-”

“No,” you sat up, letting his once comforting arm slip off your body, “I had the worst day and everything was too much and I just needed you. I need you, JJ. But I didn’t even want to tell you because I was scared you were going to brush me off. I don’t want to have to think twice before going to you, I shouldn’t have to but I jus-”

You were cut off by a harsh sob that was building up in your throat throughout the day. The weight of everything pulling you down for too long. Your cries, however, were quickly muddled as JJ pulled you into his warm, taut chest. His pillowy lips pushed against your skin, shushing you in comfort.

“I’m so sorry, Baby, I’m not embarrassed by you. For fuck’s sake, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to it, I guess. You love so proudly and the fact that I have you is overwhelming. I’ve never done this before, loving someone. I wish you had told me, sweet girl, I love you so much, angel. So much and if you need me to hold you or kiss you or whatever, just tell me, okay?”

You nodded against the soft fabric of his navy shirt, your sobs giving out to breathy whimpers. It was peaceful like that, the room completely dark except for the moon and stars shining through your curtains and your boy holding you tight as you laid on his chest. You leaned back to stare at his serene facial features and watched as he fiddled with the hem of your clothing.

“Baby?”

You hummed, settling back into the crook of his neck.

“Is this my shirt?”

“Umm, maybe?”

He felt your skin heat up against his and smirked, trying to catch your eye in the dim light.

“Why’d you take it?”

“I don’t know, I just wanted you with me when I couldn’t have you.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweet girl, I like you in my clothes. And you can always have me, okay?”

You hummed again, drowsiness forcing your lids closed. JJ shivered as your eyelashes fluttered over the smooth skin of his neck.

“What do you think of wearing this to tomorrow’s boat day with everyone?”

He mumbled into the night, smiling at the idea of you laying out with his shirt announcing you were his, but his suggestion went unanswered because your were already fast asleep in the comfort of the blue-eyed boy’s arms.

#outer banks #jj maybank #outerbanksedit #masterlist #obxedit #obx #jj maybank x reader #jj #jj x reader #jj maybank x y/n #i want a jj so someone please supply one #outer banks masterlist #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks

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kinsey3furry300 · 3 years

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A very confused Star Wars Fan desperately tries to justify their belief that “Caravan of Courage” shows the way forward for the franchise. No, really.

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve loved Star Wars. And I mean, all of it. The books, the games, the Lego, the spin-offs: I even enjoy the Holiday Special in a The Room so-bad-you-just-need-to-see-it sort of way. But particularly the films. But here is when we run into the big problem: I’m just the wrong age. The original trilogy launched before I was born, the prequel trilogy hit cinemas when I was already a teen and while I went and saw them and enjoyed them, I was at that age where I was self-conscious about seeing a “kids” film, and hyper-aware of how silly and cringy those films were in parts. So my indoctrination, my inoculation with the Star Wars bug didn’t happen in the cinema, and it didn’t happen with any of the main franchise works. It happened on home video, on a skiing trip in the French Alps in the early 90’s. I’d have been about 6, and this was the first time I’d ever been abroad other than to see relatives in Ireland. And I loved it: to this day I love skiing, but more than that, I have very, very fond childhood memories of this trip. This was shortly before I lost my biological mother to cancer, she’d have received her diagnosis just after we got back from the trip. This was when my younger sister stopped being an annoying screaming thing and became and became an actual person I could talk and play and share ideas with, this was before the combination my mothers long illness and my father having just launched his own IT start up meant I didn’t see him or her any more, despite the fact they were in the same house as me. This was this wonderful, nostalgic child-hood bubble when my family was intact, and nothing could ever go wrong. I skied all day with mum and dad, and would come back to the chalet in the evening. It was an English speaking chalet, I met my first real-life American there, and having grown up in the 90’s in the UK nothing was cooler than making friends with an actual American my own age. He had a hulk Hogan action figure with springs in the legs so if you put him on a hard surface and punched his head down, when you let go he’d jump really high in the air. We used to play with it together in the bath, back in that weird 90’s time-bubble when it was possible to convince two sets of parents that this kid you’d just met was you best friend in the world and of course shared bath time was, somehow, normal and appropriate. And fresh from bath time, tired from the day, the parents would give us some hot coco, dump us kids in front of the tv and grab the first shitty low-budget VHS they could find to keep us distracted while they went to the bar. In this particular time, in this particular place, that shitty low budget cartoon was the complete set of the 1985 Lucasfilm/ABC Ewoks cartoon, plus the two spin off movies, and to this day that cheap, kitschy, kind of bad series has a special warm and cosy place in my heart. I remember being enthralled by the world, in love with the characters, applied by the bad guys and the injustice they caused (to this day I’m still irate about that time Wicket lost his set of beads documenting his progress towards becoming a full warrior and the older Ewoks basically said, tough, you need to re-earn all those merit badges from scratch. This struck me as exactly the sort of bullshit an adult would pull, and pissed me off) and on tenterhooks about what would happen to the characters.

It was also, by a coincidence, the first ever Star Wars media I was exposed to, and the above combination of events probably explains a lot about me.

So I was surprised, the other day, when scrolling Disney+, to find they’d added Caravan of Courage AND Battle for Endor to the roster in my region. Surely Disney wouldn’t want their slick, cool brand associated with this old trash? Surely there could be no place for this in the post-Mandalorian Star Wars cannon? Surely this is a horrible mistake some intern made, right?

Unless…. What if I’ve miss-remembered? What if it’s not just rose-tinted nostalgia goggles, and it’s, in fact, secretly really, really good?

I rushed to my comfy chair, got a blanket, dimmed the lights, made some coco (with rum in it, because why the hell not?) and sat down to re-examine this lost gem.

And wow: it’s every bit as shit as you’d expect.

It has aged exactly as poorly as you’d expect a cheap, mid 80’s direct to video spin-off to age. Caravan of Courage? More like Caravan of Garbage, am I right?

And yet… I still enjoyed every moment.

And it was sitting there, in my pyjamas, watching a cheaply made direct to video cash-grab from just before I was born, seeing it again for the first time in nearly 30 years, and I realised something.

It doesn’t really matter if this film is bad, so long as I enjoy it. And if it doesn’t really mater if this is bad, then I, like many Star Wars fans, wasted a huge amount of time and emotional effort on being butthurt about stuff I didn’t like about the Rise of Skywalker and it’s ilk. Because somewhere, right now, a tired and frustrated parent is putting Disney+ on to keep their kids quiet for two hours. And they won’t think too hard about what they put on, so long as it keeps little Timmy busy for a bit. Somewhere, right now, a kid is watching Rise of Skywalker, and it’s the first Star Wars media they’ve ever seen.

And that’s okay. Because we don’t know what that kids home life is like. We don’t know if it’s good or bad. Maybe it’s great, maybe it’s about to take a dramatic plunge like mine did, and this moment here will be the cosy, warm memory they look back on in 30 years time, and that’s beautiful. They’re getting introduced to a fun, wonderful fantasy world that could be with them all their lives, through good times and bad, and as fans we should be happy about that.

Star Wars will never, die: it’s too darn profitable, Disney will never let it. And while I hope they learn from their mistakes and make sure every future Star Wars is a timeless gem of story-telling, statistically, if you keep making enough films, some of them will be bad. And while I’d like them all to be great, it’s still okay if they’re bad.

Because nothing can take away my memories of that week in that chalet. Nothing can take-away my memories of when they put the original trilogy on in cinemas for the special edition and I had my jaw hit the floor with how good it was on the big screen, not knowing or caring who shot first. Nothing can take away you memories of the Original Trilogy, the Prequels, or the Clone Wars. Nothing can tarnish the bits of the sequil trilogy that you like, and there are good bits in there.

But wait, what about continuity? What about the sacred, perfect written time-line that used to exist?

Well, what about it? Have you seen any other big, epic fantasy universe before? They’re all a mess. A work of fiction, particularly fantasy, can be extensive, or tightly written, but not both. Harry Potter is only seven books, and the last two feel, tonally, like they’re from an entirely different series. I love them, but the grim-dark kicked in so fast you’ll get whiplash. The Hobbit is a perfect written self-contained novel, and LOTR is *The* big boy high-fantasy trilogy: fast forward 50 years, and Christopher Tolkien is desperately squeezing every last drop of money out of his father’s corpse by finishing and publishing every unfinished note JRR ever wrote right down to his shopping lists. Even Dune goes of the rails with sequels. I can only think of four fantasy works that are both extensive and consistently tightly written, Song of Ice and Fire, Wheel of Time, Malazan: Book of the Fallen and Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere universe. And even then, the prequels and spin-offs mess with the timelines: the Dunk and Egg novella’s change some character’s canonical ages and timelines, Wheel of Time was going slowly off the rails even before the Jordan died, Forge of Darkness made what was a good metaphor for the creation of it’s world into a literal war deep in the past, and Sanderson’s first Novel Elantris got a re-write to bring it more in line with the rest of the shared universe. The MCU, oft held up as the modern example of tightly planned, well thought out ongoing storytelling, is a lie: it was never as pre-planned out as Disney wants us to think; the first Iron Man, apparently, barely had a script, with Downey ad-lib-ing most of his scenes. None of the MCU films are direct sequels to each-other other than Infinity war and Endgame. There are three Iron Man films, and Three Thor films, and none continue an ongoing story line across multiple films, and the Cap films barely continue an arc, but only where Cap’s relationship with Natasha and Bucky is involved. Much like these, Star War’s cannon is a complete, nightmarish, confusing, tangled, illogical mess. And it has been since 1984, as Caravan of Courage proves. It was never consistent and well planned.

And that’s okay.

I used to care about plot holes. I used to care about which works were cannon in Star Wars lore. I’m over that now. I’m happy to imagine the books, films and games not as a blow-by-blow historical account of a galaxy far far away, but as campfire stories from within this fun, imaginative world that we’re all invited to listen to. Stories that are in-universe myth and folklore, that we can all snuggle up and listen to while drinking highly alcoholic rum and remembering better times, knowing that wherever the future throws at us, no matter how the world goes to hell around us, we’ll still have the memories, and the ability to make our own new stories in the wonderful Star Wars world we all share.

And that’s okay. No, more than that: that’s beautiful.

Also Star Wars is completely unambiguous on the fact we’re allowed to kill fascists no matter how many times they keep coming back with a new logo, so that’s timely I guess.

So, there’s my hot take two-years after everyone else stopped caring about this stuff, as per bloody usual. Tell me why I’m wrong below, and does anyone else have any truly awful spin-off shows that they kind of have a nostalgic soft spot for?

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onestowatch · 3 years

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Aidan Bissett Wants You to Know It’s Okay to Be Alone [Q&A]

Photo: Brooke James

Aidan Bissett’s sunny and effortless disposition contrasts the chaotic ode to classic rock that is his latest track “Dumped.” The introspective and cathartic nature of his latest offering speaks to age-old feelings of heartbreak while doubling as an optimistic reminder that cloudy days cannot last forever.

Releasing soft-spoken tracks followed by headbanging, classic-rock inspired hits, this young artist’s music truly feels alive, shifting and evolving from one release to the next. With a soulful dedication to “music first, lyrics second,” Bissett is steadily creating his own lane defined by a relentless drive for experimentation. We had the chance to talk to Bissett about his creative approach, his latest single, “Dumped,” and plenty more.

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Ones to Watch: So, tell me the story behind “Dumped?”

Aidan Bissett: Wow, that’s a good question. I wish when I wrote it, it came from like, I had just been dumped… Well, okay, I had sort of been dumped. I don’t know how to explain that, but let’s just say I was in a relationship, taking time off, in a sense. When we were writing it, it was me, my friends, Ryan and Sean, and we were writing in a zoom session for like three hours. It was not a good song, and none of the three of us wanted to say it was a bad song. So, we were like, “OK, we are going to go take a break for a little.”

Then I pulled my guitar off the wall and started messing around, because when I get bored, especially in sessions, I like to try and take my mind off things. I’ll play random chords and sing random lyrics, like ad-lib over them just for fun. So, I started playing like three chords that are all throughout “Dumped,” singing this hook line that—it’s going to sound really weird—“I’m taking dumps all the time.” The guy I was producing it with was like, “OK, gross,” but that actually could be really cool… what if we change it to “I’m getting dumped all the time.” And I was like, “Woah.” That’s kind of how it started and we were on a roll and wrote the whole song in two hours.

And the song does mean a lot to me, because I have actually been dumped, multiple times. It sucks, it’s not a fun feeling, so every time I listen to it, it is kind of an “f you” type of song. Like, “yeah, I got dumped but I’m better off on my own anyway.” I always like that feeling better than wallowing in sadness. So, for anyone who does listen to it, I hope that it helps bring you out of the mourn and into a new light.

In the music video, you are seen reading an “Idiot's Guide To Love.” What was the last book you read?

I do love reading, I’ve always liked reading. I have not, in the past year, read a ton of books, which sucks because I actually do like reading. Well, okay, my senior year of high school I read like 13 books but a lot of them were for school. But they were still good books! I’m in the middle of reading Dune, which is very good so far. So, hopefully, I can finish that before the movie comes out. But yeah, I do like reading… when I have the time to sit down with my ADHD mind.

“Dumped” is a noted sonic transition for you. Can you tell me about how you approach your genre-spanning sound?

I don’t really like putting myself in one genre. I’m in a certain lane in the sense I do indie-pop, I do alternative, but I don't want to do straight pop. I feel like it's such a box, and it’s so limiting. I just love exploring different sounds, so even from the start, I put out “Different,” and then the second song was “Worst Girls Of All Time,” which was a completely different sound than the indie-pop wave that “Different” is. So, me putting out stuff like this after “Communication” is me exploring new sounds. To be honest, the things I like to hear always change, the bands that I’m listening to are always changing, and I take a lot of inspiration from a lot of different bands. I just love trying new things. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, but it just keeps me on my toes instead of just doing the same formula over and over again.

What are you listening to right now?

That’s a good question, it’s kind of all over the place. There’s this one girl, Remi Wolf, who I’ve been non-stop listening to… I have been listening to her for a minute. When she put out her first EP, I loved it. But now, she’s putting out these new tracks and Solomonophonic, her producer, he’s just incredible and her voice is incredible. They are doing so many things that just aren’t normal in this time of music; it’s just so her own lane. I find that really inspiring in the sense that she’s carving her own path and not following in the line of others.

I feel like I’m always listening to Wallows no matter what. I always have them ready to go. COIN. Role Model’s rolling out new stuff so I’m excited for that, he’s kind of taking a change in his own discography. [The] sounds that he is doing are definitely a lot different from his earlier stuff. This guy, binki. He’s actually opening for Role Model on this tour. Oh my gosh! His music’s insane, so cool. It’s got so many sounds going on, similar to Remi Wolf, there’s so much going on, you’re like ‘wow.. I’ve never heard something like this before.’

For those who don’t know, you write, record and produce your music all by yourself. Can you walk me through your creative process?

Yeah, I’m very musically-driven. Everyone has their own thing, I feel like a lot of artists, like the Olivia Rodrigo types, are lyrically-driven. I’m definitely music first, lyrics second. So, when I sit down to write something I try and get something I latch onto. I’m like, “Oh, this sounds cool. Lyrics could sound cool over this.” Anytime I go into a session or I’m recording by myself, I try to lay down some form of music, and then I’ll freestyle lyrics or freestyle melodies over the top, or pick a melody I like and throw lyrics over that melody. Whether that’s a hook or a verse, that kind of just depends on how I’m feeling. It’s definitely a bit unconventional compared to other artists. I feel like artists are a bit more put together when it comes to writing music just because I’ve only been doing it for like a year-and-a-half. But I have my own process, and it works. Every time I write something I learn something new. I’m excited to see, even a year from now, what my process will be… and even if it's completely different or efficient, who knows?

Tell me about the influence of music in your childhood and the decision for you to be a musician at a young age - you started playing electric guitar very young - what was your household like? Musical family?

My dad wanted the kids in our family, I have two other siblings, to play an instrument for two years during our young adult life. He wanted us to play piano before we got to pick, so we had two years of piano and then we had to pick an instrument. So, my sister went and played two years of piano and didn’t really stick with it afterward. Then, it was my turn and I was like, “Well, I don’t really want to play piano, can I play guitar?” And since I was the only one who asked, who expressed interest in a different instrument, he was like, “Sure.” I started in second grade and I’ve stuck with it the entire time. I took lessons for years, and that’s how I kind of got into the classic rock scene. My dad was a huge classic rock fan so he showed me all greats… and that was all I listened to for years. It definitely had a large impact on what I did. I would even play in little recitals, and I always played classic rock songs like AC/DC or Guns N’ Roses.

It wasn’t necessarily a musical household, like my dad isn’t musical, my mom isn’t musical. The reason he wanted us to play an instrument is because his mom made him play an instrument as a kid, so he was like, “You guys get to do that, too.” But it is true, one of us ended up using it.

What do you want people to take away from “Dumped?”

It’s an amp-up song. I want them to feel energized, to be happy with yourself. Getting hurt in relationships happens all the time, but it's okay to get hurt in a relationship. It’s kind of how you bounce back, and I want this song to be like a bounce back. Like, you hear it and, “Oh! This is me bouncing back! I don’t need to sit and cry anymore, because that’s not fun.” Sitting and crying is okay, everyone’s done it, but there’s a point that you reach, in that break-up phase, when the crying needs to stop and you need to go out and live and be the person that you are, independently. So, I would hope that it inspires you to be your independent, wonderful self again.

Is there anything else you would like to say about your music, or in general, that you want to take the chance now to say?

Well, I’m sitting on a lot of songs. So, I’m excited to get all the rest out, and again, everything is so diverse. All the music is so diverse, I just feel like each song is its own thing, which I really enjoy. I feel that’s really unique to my own music, where you’re getting something new every time. I’m moving to LA. That’s the other thing. So, if anyone sees me in LA, please stop me and say hello!

#aidan bissett #dumped #interview #pop #indie pop #alternative pop

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lizardkingeliot · 3 years

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So, do those of you currently reading time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) remember that scene in chapter 4 where Quentin shows up for his tutoring session and Eliot says he wants to go to the edge of the campus and manipulate the magic of the wards so they can fly? You know... this one:

Only they never end up making it there because they start bickering the second they leave the library? Well, in the rough draft of this chapter I initially had this scene... ending very differently. And they also weren’t going to fly, they were going to... well. I think I’ll just let y’all read it for yourselves lmao. I think I talked about this a bit on twitter when I was working on the chapter so if it sounds familiar that’s probably why. ANYWAY. I have a ton of deleted scenes from this fic, most of which will never see the light of day, but I woke up this morning with the urge to share at least part of this one so... I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

This is super rough and unedited and honestly not up to my usual standards, but... you know. Rough drafts tend to be that way. It’s also all over the place in terms of tone and where they were at this point in the fic lmao. This might be bordering on crack honestly. Which is why I just scrapped the whole thing and went a different route in the final draft. Anyway. Shutting up now. This is about 2k words so I’m putting most of it under a cut...

—

Trudging across campus two paces behind Eliot, Quentin was stricken by the overwhelming feeling that he was trapped inside a dream. The eerie, quiet campus, lit only by the waning moon and a few dots of light spilling from the various student houses. He looked back over his shoulder, spotting the Cottage in the distance, the dim orange glow of the front bay window swimming in his vision like a boat lost at sea.

As they approached the outer edge of the grounds, Quentin could feel the magic of the wards, buzzing on the air like insects. Bone-deep reverberations, strains of music swelling from within. He’d never been out this far before. The line where Brakebills ended and the real world began. Where there was nothing but the boat house and the wind. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He breathed in deep, the scent of the Hudson rushing nearby filling his senses as Eliot came to a sudden halt in the dark.

“Here,” Eliot said. Quentin could only just barely make out the shape of his elegant fingers pointing just ahead. “Can you feel the energy? I guess the Naturalists come out here sometimes and use it to light their bongs.” He laughed, a sound that warmed Quentin underneath his jacket at once. “And occasionally singe their own eyebrows off in the process.”

Quentin looked back. They’d come out to a place that the light from the Cottage couldn’t reach. Eliot formed an orb between his hands and pinned it overhead, a grapefruit sized pendant of magic swaying gently in the breeze. He stepped into Quentin’s personal space, giving him the once over. Head-to-toe and back again, settling at last on Quentin’s eyes.

“So,” he said with a smirk. “Cavaleri Animation. My memory of the First Year curriculum is a little hazy, but they’ve dazzled you all with that one already, yes? Turning your marbles into little glass animals, you know the one.”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, um… but Alice was the only one who could actually get hers to work.”

Swift and warm as a pulse, Eliot’s hand curled around the nape of Quentin’s neck. Heat spreading down the column of his spine like a flame catching a wick. Thumb teasing over burning flesh. Eliot’s lips ghosted over his ear, not quite touching. Still, Quentin swore he could feel his smile. “Well,” he said, soft and dark, “I’m here now. And you’re going to do it. And it’s going to work.”

Quentin’s hand was bunching up the back of Eliot’s cardigan. He didn’t know when that had happened. The hum of the magic was making him dizzy. For a moment, it was impossible to breathe. His body a tight line of tension and desire. Eliot pulled away and Quentin released his hold, staggering a little as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

“Um, okay…” Quentin ran a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at centering himself. “Why, uh—why do we have to do that here? We could have just done that spell in the library.”

“Because,” Eliot said with a tip of his head, “I have a theory.”

“A theory?” Quentin frowned. “You brought me out here for a theory?”

“More of a hypothesis really,” Eliot said with a wave of his hand. “But I think it’s going to work.”

“Great,” Quentin said with an exasperated sigh. “Dicking around with unstable magic in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong.”

“Look, it’s going to be fun,” Eliot said with that casual little air of his. “And we probably won’t explode even if I’m wrong. So we really don’t have very much to lose.”

“Okay, I’m—” Quentin threw his hands up. “For fuck’s sake, El, can you just tell me what we’re actually doing out here?”

“We,” Eliot said very slowly, reaching inside his cardigan, pulling a sliver of magenta colored glass out of the pocket of his vest, and looking through it, “are going to tap into all that crazy energy and make your little glass marble friend into a very big animal friend and take it for a spin.” He passed the sliver of glass over to Quentin. “Take a look.”

Quentin stared at Eliot for a very long time before relenting. “You’re actually a crazy person, you know that?”

“I think you mean certified sorcerer genius, but I’ll take it.” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Go on. It’s balls to the wall out here. So much energy we could power a fucking nuclear reactor and I doubt Henry would notice.”

Quentin looked through the glass, moving it from one eye over to the other. At first, it was impossible to make sense of what he was actually seeing. A latticework of stars. Billions of them it seemed, all bumping up against one another in a wild, cosmic dance. A galaxy of intersecting lines and patchwork patterns shimmering like the wings of a dragonfly. And every now and then, a spark. Popping off into the dark like fingers desperate for the night. Quentin handed the glass back to Eliot with a shake of his head.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t be boring, Quentin,” Eliot said. It made Quentin’s chest ache with its normalcy. Like their past couldn’t touch them out here. Like out here with their bad ideas and their wild magic, maybe they could have some hope to start again. “But maybe… maybe don’t make anything that wants to bite our heads off.”

“Okay, so…” Quentin sighed with his whole chest. “To recap: you want to steal unstable magic from the wards of the school where we’re both currently students to make a giant glass animal that hopefully doesn’t swallow us whole so we can… take it for a ride?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, like it was the most obviously brilliant thing in the world. “Don’t make that face with your face. Tell me you’ve never wanted to ride a rhinoceros.”

“We are not riding a rhinoceros, Eliot. Absolutely not.”

“Well, okay…” Eliot’s hand on his nape again. Heat, fire, a five alarm blaze encircling his neck like a collar. “If you could ride on any animal, real or imaginary—”

“The Cozy Horse,” Quentin said without thinking, heart pounding like hoofbeats trapped inside his chest. “Um… it’s from the Fillory books, uh…”

Eliot laughed softly. “Okay.” His hand slid down to Quentin’s shoulder, gripping it possessively. “Tell me about... the Cozy Horse.”

“Um…” Quentin squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath, shook his head. Eliot’s hand was stroking up and down the expanse of his upper arm and shoulder, making everything go all fuzzy in his brain. “It’s just, uh… it’s this horse that Jane rode on. It’s, uh… really tall. Like a hundred feet. Like a clydesdale on steroids.”

“You won’t ride a rhinoceros but you’re perfectly fine with a horse that’s a hundred feet tall?”

Quentin turned his face upward, trapping himself in Eliot’s gaze. Sinking, flying, falling. Close enough to kiss if he only went up on his toes a little. Tucked inside the safety of his warmth. Quentin wanted to burn, to melt into a puddle at Eliot’s feet and slosh around like muck. “I…” Quentin swallowed. “I don’t think the Cozy Horse would hurt us. It’s basically a giant stuffed animal.”

Eliot grinned, gazing down at Quentin for a long beat before pulling away. “Okay then,” he said, taking a few steps down the path under their feet. “Show me Cozy Horse.”

Quentin reached into his pocket, knelt down, set the marble on the path. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to… harness the magic of the wards.”

Eliot made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, peering through it with one eye. “Just leave that part to me,” he said absently. “Go on. Make your horse. And don’t say you can’t do it. We both know that you can.”

Quentin gazed up the long line of Eliot’s body. Eliot was fully focused on the wards. The sound of night, the crackle of magic. Quentin shivered under his jacket. His hands hovered over the marble, focusing his energy on prepping the glass for transformation with Dempsey's Silent Thermogenesis. Once molten, the marble could be manipulated into almost any shape he could imagine. For the Cozy Horse, Quentin didn’t have much to go on but the memory of a single illustration, and a few lines from The Wandering Dune, but he figured it would probably be simple enough. How hard could it be to imagine a draft horse the size of something straight out of the Cretaceous period?

Quentin twisted the glass under his fingers, so fully focused on his task he almost didn’t notice when Eliot began to move. When, suddenly, through the loop of Eliot’s fingers, a beam of sharp, frenzied magic began to focus on the animal he had half-formed with laser precision.

“You might wanna hurry,” Eliot said. “I don’t know how long I can hold this here.”

Quentin scowled in his direction, looping a bit of the molten glass into the shape of a tail. “You’re shit at communicating, you know that,” he spit, letting the gentle rage rising in his belly fuel his magic. “I thought cooperative magic was supposed to be, I don’t know… cooperative?”

Legs, hooves, the gentle slope of a hulking animal’s back. The wispy tendrils of a mane. Eliot was saying something that might have been a warning. Quentin was too focused on his creation to parse a single one of his words. The magic of the wards cracked like lightning. He could feel it in his hands. Quickly, almost as an afterthought, Quentin gave the beast that had come to life beneath his fingers a shimmering loop around the back of the neck that might have passed for reins if he squinted.

A single hoofbeat on the soft ground. The beam of magic stuttering through Eliot’s fingers died away, and he let out a tremendous sigh.

“Okay so... “ Quentin frowned, eyes flitting from the tiny glass horse up to Eliot’s face. “I don’t think this is going to—”

A flash, a pop, a tremendous wave of heat knocking the air from his lungs. Quentin shoved his body backward off the path and into the grass just as Eliot was running over. Kneeling down, using himself as a makeshift shield as he pushed Quentin further back away from the molten monstrosity shifting and morphing and doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size. A deep rumble, the tinkling of glass. Quentin peered over Eliot’s shoulder, his eyes moving up, up, up, trying to take in what it was he was actually seeing.

The glass horse shook out its mane, rearing up on its hind legs and down again with an earth-trembling thud. The distance from the ground to its shoulder must have been twenty feet. It had no eyes and no mouth, but Quentin swore he could feel its glassy stare boring into him. The light of the orb dangling overhead passed right through the center of its body. For a long moment, everything went perfectly still.

And then Eliot started to laugh. “Holy shit,” he said, his eyes wide as dinner plates when he turned his face to Quentin. “That is a big fucking horse.”

A laugh sputtered out from between Quentin’s lips. “Yeah, um… yeah. Fuck. It really is.”

Eliot’s body pressed right up against Quentin’s body when he turned, and leaned in, so close they were almost kissing. A pulse of heat passed between them. Quentin felt it in his chest like a second heart. “So,” Eliot said, a hand curling around Quentin’s cheek for a fleeting moment before pulling away. “You wanna take her for a spin?”

Quentin felt absolutely out of his mind. Hazy, his body a liminal space. “Yeah,” he said with a short, stuttering burst of laughter. “Yeah, why the fuck not.”

Unreality set in hard as they stood and cautiously approached. Up close, they might as well have been gazing upward at the hulking glass back of a dinosaur. The haphazard reins Quentin had created looped around the beast’s neck like a string of fairy lights.

“Um…” Quentin laughed, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. “How the fuck are we even going to get on this thing?”

Eliot took his hand suddenly, threading their blood-warm fingers together. “Oh, Q,” he said with a full-faced grin, “we’re gonna fucking fly.”

#the magicians #queliot #otp: proof of concept #myfic #*margo hanson voice* that's not tonally consistent with the fic

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lost-in-the-80s · 4 years

Text

The Hotel - Halloween Special

Pairing: Izzy Stradlin x Reader

Words: 4,859k

Summary: You and your boyfriend, Izzy decide to make a road trip, however, strange events end up leading you to a strange hotel on October, 31st. (kind of angst)

A/N: Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, so I decided to make an Imagine with the Halloween theme. It is inspired by the song Hotel California by Eagles.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, ghosts and paranormal events. It’s a horror fic, if you don’t like this theme, maybe this isn’t the right fic for you.

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car @ladieswttda @teasid add yourself to my tag list :)

It was the fall of 1990, you and your boyfriend, Izzy were enjoying the last few months you had together before he went on another world tour with his band, Gun n Roses.

The two of you were in the living room of your shared apartment in L.A. You shared a cozy blanket while sitting on the couch, watching some romantic movie on the TV. Izzy didn’t really like this type of movie, but made an effort because he knew how much you liked them.

You snuggled in his chest, pressing yourself even more on him, he chuckled a little and passed his fingers through your hair.

“We should do something.” He stated.

“Like what?”

“How about a road trip? We take the car and drive until Portland, then come back.”

“Portland? You mean, Oregon?”

“Yeah, Oregon. I was looking on the map and it has some beautiful locations there.”

“But how long will it take us?”

“It’s a 14-hour drive, we can make it in a week through the coast and then come back in another week, taking a different road.”

“Hmm, sounds nice! Let’s do it!”

“How about we leave by the end of October? So I can have enough time to finish some stuff at the studio.”

“Sure, babe!”

And so October went by, Izzy finished some final touches at the studio, you rescheduled some appointments of yours, you two organized your bags, bought a map, a flashlight and some other travel essentials and checked the car with a mechanic. Everything was going as planned.

You decided to leave on Monday, 22nd, because the roads would be less packed. So you both woke up, took shower, had a delicious breakfast and started your amazing trip.

You knew that the reason why Izzy wanted to leave town for a while, was because he was stressed. Axl was a perfectionist, while Izzy liked things to sound less rehearsed, for that reason the two of them have been bickering towards each other during all this album recording, and Izzy really needed some time away from all of this.

The trip started just fine, you drove through the coast and you got amazed by how beautiful California’s coast was. All its colors, shapes and beaches getting a special place in your memory.

The first stop was Santa Barbara, you two enjoyed it’s beaches, becoming friends with a group of sourfists that taught Izzy how to surf. By night you went to a nice restaurant in front of the beach, delighting yourselves with cocktails and seafood.

Then you went to San Francisco, where you decided to stay for two days, visiting all its touristic places, like the Golden Gate Bridge, Lombard Street, Pier 39 and the Coit Tower.

Moving on to Sonoma, you could savor some of the best wine you had had in your life and spend the night at a cozy cottage, reading a book and cuddling together in front of the fireplace.

The last stop in California was the Redwood National Park. You got completely stunned by that place, admiring the magnitude of the world, as you looked so small beside those trees.

Soon the greenish color of the sea turned bluer, the sunset became less orange and the mornings turned more grey, the sand turned to earth and the breeze became colder and you arrived in Oregon.

You glimpsed the strength of the sea at the Samuel H. Boardman Scenic Corridor and Cape Sebastian State Scenic Corridor and admired the sunset at the Face Rock State Scenic Area.

And finally, you got stunned with the Devil’s Punchbowl and spent a day relaxing at Neskowin Beach ending the week taking the most beautiful pictures at Cannon Beach, where you bought souvenirs for all your friends.

Then you finally arrived in Portland, spending the weekend there, seeing all the touristic places and visiting museums. On Sunday night, Izzy took you to this fancy restaurant, you wore a beautiful blue dress he had asked you to bring along, while he put on a black shirt with a blazer.

You had just eaten delicious lamb meat with a glass of wonderful wine and were waiting for the dessert when he started talking.

“I’ve been thinking these past days, about the tour and stuff.”

You looked up at him and his eyes caught yours.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’m sure it will be a long time and I didn’t really want to leave without doing something first.”

He touched your hand that was resting on top of the table.

“You’ve been with me for years now. You met me when having a big band and becoming famous were just dreams, you saw me in my best and in my worst and you never let go of me, even when I was being an asshole with you.”

He made a pause.

“I wake up happy every day, just because I know that I’ll see you when I open my eyes, and I can’t imagine my life without you. So I was wondering if…” He stopped and started to search for something in his blazer pockets, he took a small black box out of it and you gasped, covering your mouth as a huge smile appeared on your face. “If you would like to marry me, Y/N?”

Recovering a little from your surprise, you replied with teary eyes. “Yes, Izzy, I would love to!”

He placed a small silver ring with a single diamond on top of it, on your ring finger and kissed the back of your hand, then he leaned a little on the table and pecked your lips.

“I love you!”

“I love you too, Izzy”

When Monday came by, you two fueled the car and started driving back home. stopping at some locations you haven’t been before.

You had the chance to drive a buggy at the Oregon Dunes, take lots of pictures at the Heceta Head Lighthouse and make a forest trail at the Cape Perpetua Scenic Area before camping at Beverly Beach. Which, by the way, was a disaster, you forgot the repellent spray and the mosquitos had a nice dinner over with you and Izzy.

Soon, day 31st arrived. You woke up in your tent with a single sunbeam illuminating the place, you felt Izzy’s arms holding you close to him and you took a moment to admire your engagement ring.

You stretched up a little bit, which woke him up. He yawned and squeezed you harder, before speaking with a husky morning voice.

“Good morning, beautiful!”

“Good morning, Iz!”

You turned around and kissed him quickly on the lips.

“Happy Halloween.”

“Today’s Halloween?” He frowned.

You just hummed in response.

“All right, let’s get up then.” He pecked your lips one more time and let go of you, as he sat up.

You got ready, packed your stuff and exited the tent, starting to walk towards the parking lot.

You looked up to the sky and saw the grey color became prevalent.

“I think it’s gonna rain.” You said.

“Maybe if we have breakfast fast enough, we can get to California before it starts.”

You sat on the passenger seat, scrolling through the radio stations until you found one that pleased your ears.

After a few minutes driving, you stopped at a cafe, taking a table in front of the window and ordering pancakes with coffee.

“Where’s the next stop?” Izzy asked.

You took the map out of your purse and looked cautiously.

“Mount Shasta.”

“Hmm. I think we’ll get there for lunch.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “A friend of mine told me about a hotel there, I don’t remember the name, but it has Wale on it.”

“Nice. We should spend the night there!”

“We really should.”

You finished eating and started driving again. Izzy took the wheel while you gave him the directions. It was a little past ten when the rain started pouring, making Izzy drive slower, not trusting his car to stop fast enough if you needed it.

About 2 in the afternoon you got to Mount Shasta. It was still raining and the trail had been closed due to the bad weather.

Not having many more things to do, you both had lunch at a local restaurant and took pictures of yourselves at the mounting foot and other places you found interesting. You smiled as Izzy made a funny face for you to take a picture.

An old man started walking near you, and you asked him if he could take a picture of the two of you, which he happily complied.

You went to Izzy’s side and rested your hand on his chest, while his hand circled your waist. You saw the flash and then Izzy kissed your forehead, the second flash hit your eyes and Izzy thanked the man, getting the camera back.

The day started to grow dark and you decided to head to the hotel, since it was about an hour away from the city.

The rain became stronger and the mist started to cover the road. You passed by the numerous trees that surrounded the road while listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd.

In the distance, you saw a red light appear beside a big house. “There!” you shouted.

You were right, it was the hotel. You were both sure as you saw “Californian Wale” written on top of the house. There was just one problem, the red neon light in front of it said “No vacancy”, which meant you would have to keep on driving, during that weather, until you found somewhere else to stay.

As the sunset and the night arrived, the weather got worse, thunder and lightning turning the night into a spectacle and you barely could see anything until it was really close to you.

You were becoming hopeless, you thought you wouldn't be able to find anywhere to stay for the night.

By 7 in the night, Izzy didn't see a hole on the road, a loud sound broke in the darkness and you knew you had punctured the tire.

For a second Izzy lost control over the car and you ended up out of the road.

"Fuck! Are you alright?"

"Yes." You let go of a breath you didn't realize you had caught.

"Where's the flashlight?"

You searched through the glove compartment until your hands touched the cold material. You handed him the object as he thanked you and exited the car.

After a few minutes, he came back. "Fuck!" He was dripping wet. "We don't have a spare wheel."

"What do you mean we don't have a spare wheel?"

"I mean we don't have a spare wheel, Y/N!" He replied to you as if he was talking to a toddler.

"I thought you had checked the car out with the mechanic!"

"I did it! But we just checked the engine and shit, I didn't even think about the step!"

"Fuck! What do we do now?"

"I don't know." He leaned his head on the wheel while cursing.

Suddenly a car headlight lightened the road.

"Look!"

Izzy lifted his head and you smashed the car's horn, making the driver stop his truck beside your car, turning on the alert lights.

It was a squeak. You breathed out in relief.

"What happened?" He shouted through his window.

"We punctured the tire and don't have a spare wheel!"

"Alright, hold it!" He lined up his truck with your car and exited it.

"Wait inside." Was all Izzy said before exiting the car to help the driver hitch the car on the truck.

After a few minutes he came back and the car started to be pulled back on the road.

"He called us crazy for not having seen the weather forecast on the news. We're underneath a huge storm cloud." He chuckled.

"He said there's a small city not too far from here, he'll let us there."

"Good" You sighed.

After some minutes you saw the city's entrance, he wasn't joking when he said it was small. It had just one main street and all the houses looked old.

He left you and Izzy in front of a mechanic garage and refused to get the money Izzy offered him for having driven you there.

You entered the office of the garage, hand in hand, and a man in his 40s appeared behind the counter. He had a toothpick between his lips and looked like he hadn't taken shower in ages.

"Hm, good night. We have a punctured tire." Izzy spoke up.

"I see, let's take a look."

He moved outside and looked at your tire.

"Well, it's not that bad. I have a tire of this type here, I can fix it in 30 minutes or so."

"Good!"

"Do you have a car jack?"

"Yes, it's in the back."

"Go get it while I get the tire then."

Izzy moved towards the car and the man looked you up and down, making you feel a huge discomfort.

You walked quickly to Izzy's side while the man walked back inside the office.

"I don't like this man." You whispered.

"Me neither, but we need to fix the car, baby." He put a lock of your hair behind your ear and closed the trunk.

The man came back and you leaned against a wall while you watched them working on the car.

"All done! It's 250 bucks." The man said, while he scratched his nose.

"250? Wow, that's way more than I had thought."

"I'm working at night, kid, my time it's not for free."

Izzy stared at him.

"I can take the tire off if you want." He said, leaning down.

"No, it's fine."

You both walked inside the office, while Izzy paid the man.

"Do you take a check?"

"I don't, usually."

"I don't walk around with 250 bucks in my wallet, man."

"Alright, I'll take your check then, but I want the date for tomorrow."

"Alright, man."

"Where are you guys going?"

"We're going to Los Angeles."

"It's a long road until Los Angeles, especially with this weather. If I were you, I would spend the night at a hotel… We have a good one, a little bit after the city. They serve a good soup at nights like this."

Izzy signed up for the check. "Thank you"

He grabbed your hand and you walked back to the car.

"What do you think? Should we check out this hotel?"

"I think it's a good idea. I'm soaked, we're hungry and it's raining cats and dogs outside." He turned on the car. "Plus, we don't know if we'll find somewhere else nearby."

You agreed.

He drove until you saw a huge Victorian house with a sign saying "Hotel Hoffmann".

"I guess we're here."

He parked the car and you both exited, running in the rain until you got to the main door of the house.

You knocked repeatedly until an old woman opened the door for you. She had white hair and dark eyes and was dressed as if she still lived in the 50s.

"Come on in, kids." She gave you a creepy smile.

You gulped, grabbing Izzy's hand before entering the place.

"What a night huh?" She laughed a little. "Bill called saying you two would probably stop by."

"I'm sorry, but, who's Bill?" You asked.

"The man who fixed your car, darling."

"Oh"

"We still have some open rooms for you. Do you prefer it on the first or second floor?"

"Second, please" Izzy cleared his throat, the rain starting to make him feel sick.

"All right, I'll put you in room number 13." She looked through the multiple keys behind her, before putting the one with a locksmith with a big 13 written.

"We'll be serving soup until nine at the main saloon." She put a leather-covered notebook on the desk. "In which name should I make the reservation?"

"Jeffrey Isbell." Izzy spoke before you could answer.

She wrote his name down with a beautiful calligraphy before handing him the pen to sign.

She handed you the keys to your room and said she would take you both there. Izzy interjected saying he would go grab your baggage in the car.

"Do you want help?"

"No, honey, it's okay." He left the room and an uncomfortable silence filled in.

"It's been a long time since we last had a young couple like you."

You forced a smile, not really knowing what to say.

Izzy came back with the bags and she led you to your room. Once inside, Izzy locked the door.

You stopped for a moment to look at the room. It was big, the walls were painted in peach color and the furniture looked old.

"Finally some peace." He hugged you from behind, kissing the top of your head.

You turned around, hugging him back. "You need to take a shower, or you're gonna catch a cold."

"Hmm, and will you join me?" He asked suggestively.

"No, I'll go later, babe"

"Are you sure?"

You nodded your head and he walked towards the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

You took a long breath. Something was wrong. You couldn't quite put into words what, but your heart was clenched ever since you got in that town.

You took a seat at the bench underneath the window, looking at the dimly light garden. No cars were passing by, the only thing you distinguished outside was a dog running down the street.

"The rain is starting to stop."

Izzy's voice made you jump a little, you hadn't realized he had left the bathroom, nor that you had been there for so long.

You looked at him. "Why don't you take a shower and we go down to eat something?" He caressed your face and you instantly felt calmer.

He always had this power over you, no matter what was happening, you always felt safe and calm when Izzy was with you.

"There's something wrong, Iz."

"What do you mean?" He sat in front of you.

"I don't know. I don't like this place, there's something wrong with the energy around here."

"I don't like this place too, but it's only for one night, tomorrow morning we get in the car and drive to the next destination ok?"

"Okay"

You stood up and walked towards the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the shower. Taking off your clothes you looked at yourself in the mirror before getting underneath the hot water, letting it warm your body.

Exiting the bathroom you put on a pair of jeans and a red sweatshirt and walked with Izzy to the main room. There was just a couple with a young daughter there. They stared at you until you sat down.

Another old woman brought you two plates with soup and you started eating. The taste was horrible, but you were so hungry that you ate everything.

Back to your room, you guys were feeling so tired that decided to call it a night, Izzy removed his clothes and you put on his sweater, before climbing on bed with him. You adjusted the blankets and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to fall asleep.

A loud scream woke you up. You sat down on the bed and turned the night table light on, looking at the clock you saw it was 3 in the morning.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah." Izzy said getting up and putting his pants on.

The corridor light allowed you to see a shadow passing by the door.

"Turn the light off." Izzy murmured.

You did as he said and you saw the person take another direction.

After a few seconds you turn it on again, and a scream left your lips as you could swear you saw someone behind Izzy.

"Shh, it's okay." He climbed on the bed and cupped your face. "I'm here, nothing is gonna happen to you, ok?"

"Okay." You breathed slowly, trying to calm yourself.

Suddenly the bedroom windows opened and the cool breeze of the night invaded the room.

"Izzy…" you tugged on his arm.

"Let's get out of here." He grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the room.

The corridor was empty and you started to walk quickly towards the entry door. You turned left and were faced with a long corridor full of doors.

That's when you hear what looked like a child asking for help. Izzy started walking towards the sound and you pulled him back by the hand murmuring for him not to do so.

"It's a child Y/N!"

He let go of your hand and moved towards the only room with an open door. You walked closely behind him. You saw a boy sitting on the floor crying as he asked for help again.

Izzy entered the room, but before you could do the same the door closed behind him.

"IZZY!"

"Y/N!" He yelled back, trying to open the door.

"IZZY!!" You started to shove your fists against the door.

You heard a loud sound inside the room and Izzy saying: "Oh my God!" And you became hysterical.

You tried to open the door with all your force, shoving your fists and shoulders on the wood trying to take Izzy out of there.

"Y/N Leave!"

"I'm not leaving without you!!" You started to cry.

"Get on the fucking car and leave!!"

Before you could reply the corridor lights started to flick and you saw someone approaching you. Turning your head to the left you saw a young man getting closer to you, illuminated by the moonlight.

You were about to ask him for help when the lights flicked on again. He was tall and was dressed in 60s clothes, everything looked normal except for his white morbid eyes and his broken neck, his head slightly leaned to the side.

You screamed loudly this time as you started to walk back.

"Y/N!!" Izzy hit the door trying to open it.

You turned around and started running down the stairs, while still hearing Izzy calling for you.

Running towards the main door you were stopped as a woman with a cut neck appeared in front of you.

"Where are you going, sweetie?"

You screamed again and turned left, getting in a corridor you haven't been before.

She started to walk behind you and you saw an open room, getting inside and closing the door behind you. It was a library, with big windows. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

You heard a loud sound coming from the second floor and one of the windows breaking.

You saw someone falling from it, and when you got closer to the glass you saw a white man with black hair and red leather pants.

"Izzy!!" You yelled punching the glass, seeing his lifeless body laying on the grass.

Tears started to fall from your eyes as you heard the door of the Library opening.

"You are going to be with him soon, darling, don't worry."

It was the old lady.

You ran and passed through the second door of the room, ending up in another corridor.

You ran until you found two big doors separating the corridor. You opened them and were greeted with an indoor pool area. The ceiling was made of glass, just like most of the walls. You looked from one way to another but there were no other doors. You were stuck.

"It's useless to run." She reappeared behind you.

You turned around, facing her. "Please, just let me go!"

She said nothing, but took one step closer, making you take one step back.

"Please, I didn't do anything! Just let me go!"

The couple from the dinner appeared beside her, alongside the boy with the broken neck and the bleeding woman, along with some other people you haven't seen before.

They all looked hurt in some sort of way and their eyes were white as if a cloud was hiding their true ones.

You kept walking backward as they kept walking towards you.

"Please, let me go!! Please!" Your crying was evident in your voice and you were starting to freak out.

"Please, don't hurt me!" You took one last step back and was involved in water. You fell in the pool.

You were so scared that you forgot the pool was there, and most importantly, you forgot you didn't know how to swim.

You tried as hard as you could. Moving your legs and arms to try to get to the surface again, but it was useless. The more you moved, the deeper you got.

You opened your mouth to try to breathe but was greeted with water filling your lungs, making you choke.

You moved your hand to your neck as if the gesture would bring you some oxygen. You looked up and saw all those people circling the pool and then darkness overtook you.

You woke up gasping for air, touching your body to check you were ok. Sweat covered your forehead and most parts of your body and hot tears left your eyes.

You suddenly saw the lights turn on, realizing you were still in the hotel room. "Shh, it's okay."

You pulled away when he touched you.

"It's okay. It's me!" You didn't look at him, so he touched your chin and lightly made you look in his direction. "It's me Y/N!"

You let go of a long breath and hugged him tightly.

"It's ok, it was just a nightmare. You're ok!"

"You were dead and I was dead and the pool…." You dragged on, sharing the first memories you had from your dream.

"Shh" He kissed the top of your head. "We're fine Y/N."

"She was following me…"

"As long as I'm here, no one will hurt you, okay?" He parted from you to look in your eyes.

You nodded slowly.

Looking at the clock on your bedside table you saw it was 2:35 am.

"Let's get out of here, Izzy. Please!"

"But it's in the middle of the night, babe"

"Please, Izzy, please, let's get out of here!"

He saw how frightened you were. "Okay." He paused for a second. "Let's get dressed then."

You both got up and got dressed, throwing all your stuff back in your bags. You paused before exiting the room.

"Promise me that you will ignore anything you might hear!"

"What?"

"Promise me, Izzy!"

"Ok! I promise!"

You grabbed his hand and dragged him down the corridor and down the stairs as fast as you could.

Arriving at the reception you rang the bell on the table tirelessly until the old woman appeared. She was wearing a robe, but didn't look tired at all.

"What's the problem kids? Didn't like your room?"

"We want to check out!" You replied quickly.

"Now? But it's still early!" She paused for a moment, trying to think about what to say. "Wouldn't you prefer to leave by morning?"

"No! We have to go now!"

"We serve a good breakfast here."

"I said we have to go now!" You were growing frustrated.

"Okay, but I'll have to demand the same price as if you had stayed until morning."

"Ok! How much?"

"45 dollars."

You opened your purse, looking for your wallet, getting 50 bucks, and putting them on her desk.

She opened a drawer to get your change, but you rushed in saying she could keep it, before grabbing Izzy by the hand and leading him to the door. Trying to open it, you realized it was still locked.

"The door is locked, mam" Izzy spoke up.

"Oh, wait a minute, I'll get the keys. They might be somewhere here.” She entered a small room behind the reception and you started to stomp the ground anxiously.

"She's taking too long!"

"Calm down, Y/N!" He touched your shoulder, making you feel calmer, but you were still cautious.

"We're in a rush!" You shouted.

"Oh I'm sorry, I was not finding them." She walked calmly towards the door, using all her time to open it.

Once she finally opened, you stormed out of it, dragging Izzy with you.

"Where are the car keys?"

"Jesus! Relax, Y/N! They're here!" He took the keys out of his pant's pocket and opened the trunk of the car first.

You literally threw your bag inside and rushed to the driver's door. "I'm driving!" You extended your hand for him to put the keys on.

"No way! You're too shaken to do so. You're gonna end up killing us."

"Fine, but be fast!" You gave in, rushing to the passenger door, seating fastly once Izzy unlocked the car.

Turning on the engine, he drove the car back to the street, driving out of the city.

"What time is it?"

He looked at his clock. "3 am"

You looked back just in time to see all the hotel lights turning on and strange people appearing at the windows.

A shiver ran down your spine as you sat still on your seat again, thanking that you were out of that place.

#halloween week with harley #izzy stradlin #izzy stradlin fic #izzy stradlin imagine #izzy stradlin fanfic #izzy stradlin x reader #guns n roses #guns n roses fanfic #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses fic #halloween #halloween imagine #halloween fic #harley writes

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msraven929 · 4 years

Text

*** TOG Ficlet - J/N & Andy & Nile ***

Andy put a restraining hand on Nile's arm and Nile instantly went on alert. She widened her stance on the wooden walkway and looked around quickly, trying to determine which direction the threat was coming from. She glanced at Andy, expecting her to look equally tense. Instead, Andy looked relaxed, almost serene, and she had a fond smile on her lips.

Nile followed Andy's gaze down to the small strip of beach below the cliffside. Nicky was chasing Joe around on the sand and Nile could just barely hear Joe's laughter over the sound of crashing waves. She checked and yup, Nicky looked to be soaking wet. If Nile were to guess, Joe had lured Nicky down to the beach with a promise he'd stay dry and then had promptly pushed him in the water.

Andy let out a quiet laugh when Nicky finally launched himself at Joe and sent them both tumbling into the water. The two men wrestled among the waves for a bit, each trying to dunk the other, before Nicky ended their little battle by pulling Joe close and kissing him.

"Let's take the long way back to the house," Andy advised and turned to walk back the way they'd come.

Nile took one last look back over her shoulder. Joe and Nicky were now further up the sand, looking a lot like that scene in "From Here to Eternity." Nile smiled and jogged to catch up with Andy.

Andy and Nile walked along the dunes in silence for a while before Nile decided to ask a question that had been percolating since she rescued them from Merrick.

"Does it bother you? Joe and Nicky being so in love?"

"They're not usually like that in front of us," Andy said, as if Nile had been the one bothered. "They didn't know we were watching."

"I'm not bothered by it," Nile was quick to defend herself.

"Oh... You want to know if I'm like Book."

Nile shrugged and Andy let out a sigh that sounded like it contained all the years she'd been alive.

"I know we said it was easy for them, finding each other so fast, but it doesn't mean their lives were or are easy to live. Especially with what we do."

"I'm not sure I understand," Nile admitted.

"Imagine loving someone as much as they do and watching them die, again and again. Imagine knowing that over a dozen of those first deaths were at your hands. Now imagine learning that the immortality you thought kept you safe can leave you with no warning, that you never know which death could be their last. Imagine fearing separation more than anything else and then losing someone close to you in a way more horrific than death."

Nile shuddered and Andy sighed again.

"At least I've known what it's like to survive alone," Andy added. "Their lives have always been intertwined and yet they risk each other over and over to do what good they can in this thankless world."

Andy stopped walking and took a steadying breath. She looked away for a moment and then turned back to Nile.

"And have you noticed how easily their love extends to us?" Andy asked.

Nile nodded because she had already experienced how Joe and Nicky doted on them both. They seemed to genuinely delight in doing small and big acts to make Nile and Andy happy.

"I wouldn't have survived losing Quynh if Joe and Nicky hadn't been there. They would have searched forever, but I was the one who decided I couldn't risk them too. I know they keep track of the big treasure divers because they still have hope. They've always had hope even when all we've seen is despair. They don't bother me, Nile, they amaze me."

Nile had to swallow past a lump in her throat. She knew what it felt like now, the pain of dying and coming back. She also remembered how it had felt when her dad died and how it had devastated her mom. Nile thought about how free Joe and Nicky were with hugs or words of encouragement and felt a sudden, visceral anger towards Booker.

"We all have to move past that," Andy advised, properly reading the expression on Nile's face. "Joe and Nicky wouldn't want you angry at Booker on their behalf."

Nile knew Andy was right and tried to school her features into neutrality. Andy laughed, shook her head, and started walking again.

"We gotta work on your poker face, kid."

When Nile and Andy made it back to the house, Joe and Nicky were cleaned up and working together on dinner—Andy's favorite seafood bisque and fresh French bread. For dessert, they surprised Nile with a bonfire on the beach and s'mores because she'd mentioned liking them a few weeks earlier.

Nile told them the story of the time her family had gone camping and she'd eaten her first s'more. Her parents had slow danced in the firelight and Nile still remembered how good it made her feel to see how much they loved each other, because she knew that love extended to her and her brother. Nile told them that seeing other couples in love always reminded her of that night.

Joe reached out to give Nile a one-armed hug for sharing a memory of her family and Nicky's eyes were full of fondness as he looked at them from across the fire. When Nile stole a glance at Andy, she hid her smile in a bite of s'more and nodded at Nile in approval.

A few days later, Nile watched a sleepy-eyed Joe shuffle into the kitchen while Nicky was making breakfast. Joe gave Nicky a soft hug from behind as he rested his forehead on Nicky's shoulder, clearly still mostly asleep. Nicky turned his head, kissed Joe's temple, and then nudged him toward the coffee. As Joe moved away, Nicky plated the food and brought them out to the table. He placed a plate in front of Andy and Nile, absently dropping a kiss on top of each of their heads as he went. When Joe took his seat at the table, Andy flicked a piece of tomato off her plate toward Joe's forehead—her way of showing affection. Joe caught the tomato and grinned as he popped it in his mouth while Nicky tutted at their antics. Nile laughed, engulfed by the same happiness she'd felt that long ago night by a campfire.

After all, love was meant to be shared.

#the old guard #andromache #nile freeman #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #joe x nicky #Immortal husbands #minific #my fic #x-posted to AO3 #found family

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boundinshallows · 4 years

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Peaky Rare Pair Bingo Mid-Fest Round-Up

We started the Peaky Blinders Rare Pair Bingo Challenge back in July and still have a few weeks left. However, I thought it would be a great time to do a mid-fest round-up to catch folks up on what’s been written so far.

Rare Pairs are tricky things. They’re rare because they don’t get a lot of fanworks produced about them. And in turn, sometimes the authors don’t get a lot of love on their fics because the audiences are limited. It becomes a vicious cycle, and in the end, fandom suffers because there's an overrepresentation of just a few pairings, but many amazing characters to love and explore.

I would like to invite you all to take a look at some truly incredible pieces of fic for some much undervalued pairings in Peaky Blinders. If you have a moment, please leave the authors a comment to keep fueling their creativity, even if it’s brief, especially if you like the ship. Kudos are wonderful too, but comments really help writers know there’s an audience out there looking for rare pair content.

Cheers!

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Chester Campbell / Tommy Shelby

Shameless by AbusiveLittleBun || [ E ] Tommy has his usual meeting with Campbell in a café but decides to spice it a bit up.

Tatiana Petrovna / Alfie Solomons

Solnishko by Valkrist || [ E ] There was something lovely about all the movements, about kneading the dough, while listening to some radio shows, shaking one’s hand and laughing about the people and music the whole time. As stupid as it could be, Alfie didn’t like to be interrupted during this process. There was only one exception, only one person that could call him or come in without having to deal with his grumpiness.

Vivid by Strawberriez8800 || [ E ] In which Alfie dreams about getting fucked by Tatiana, and asks Tommy a question.

Dazzle Me Blind by Strawberriez8800 || [ T ] Tatiana glances back at Alfie over her shoulder. “Have you ever been fucked by a princess?” “Can’t say I have, no.” “Good,” she says, voice like molten gold. “I like to be the first at everything I do.”

Singular by Strawberriez8800 || [ E ] Alfie tugs on Tatiana's silver chain, pulls her down towards him. “Something you should know, princess,” he says, mouth brushing against the shell of her ear, “I’m not in the habit of sharing, am I now.” She grins a feral grin. “Not even with Tommy Shelby?”

Barney Thompson / Tommy Shelby

Play Pretend by Valkrist || [ T ] It shouldn’t feel this way, should it? He shouldn’t be that afraid, feel more comfortable. Enjoy all the moments, blossom and feel all this happiness, but he didn’t. Why was he sad? Why didn’t he experience the same things others were talking about?

Peaches, Roses, Sandalwood by Valkrist || [ E ] There was something fascinating about all the oils, vials and equipment standing on the table. Small glasses, various colors, paste, scrapers, everything one could imagine. Different scents filled the room - and in the middle of it all there was one filled, slightly violet flacon.

Always Landing on Their Feet by Valkrist || [ G ] Tommy had always been torn between doing business properly and giving Charlie enough love and attention. Never really knew how to do it well enough, how to make his childhood fulfilled enough, but he had thought that it was okay, that he did his best giving Charlie good education and lovely father-son evenings. Had even dared to think that his boy didn’t have any secrets and behaved nice when he had to go to London for some days. Well, this was until he got one particular fateful e-mail.

Indulge a Desire by Valkrist || [ E ] There were many things that helped Barney forget about all his duties for a while, but the low lighting was the best one, after all.

Been Reading Books of Old, the Legends and the Myths by Valkrist || [M] Remember the last time we wrote each other letters? I don’t, but well, maybe it’s a good idea. Kinda funny to send all this words, knowing that you won’t read them immediately. But I won’t write them too often, still gotta pay for my living, you know.

Tu as tué la peur qui là dans mes bras by Valkrist || [ T ] Tommy chuckled. It was always funny to listen to Barney, even if he couldn’t understand how the latter managed to stay that calm. It seemed as if Ollie made nothing but mistakes, but Barney was patient, so terribly patient. Repeated the words again and again, encouraged Ollie to go on and not to send it all to hell.

Thoughts of You Consume by Valkrist || [ E ] Barney had already known what was about to come at the races. Going there hadn’t really been his preferable option for the day, but there was no harm in doing it - just being on Tommy’s side, looking at the majestic horses and seeing the other man’s lips curling into a smile when everything went the way it should. Barney didn’t understand much of this sort of business, but it was alright as long as Tommy knew what he was doing.

May Carleton / Tommy Shelby

When You Walk in Smelling Like Her Perfume by Valkrist || [ T ] May had never thought this necklace would mean so much to her one day. It hadn’t been much more than a lovely gesture back then, a little present, a joke. Something that looked lovely and united them. Even the telepathy coming with it didn’t seem intimate back then, being a lovely side effect. Oh, how easy it had been back then…

Between This Heartbeat and the Next by Strawberriez8800 || [ G ] Tommy is looking at her like he’s finally living their moments rather than stealing them. What a sight it makes.

Off the Beaten Path by Strawberriez8800 || [ G ] Thomas is waiting for someone; May is not so conceited as to assume it is her, yet when she takes the seat beside him and orders herself a drink, with the way he looks at her, it would be asinine to conclude the case is anything else.

The One Who Got Away by Boundinshallows || [ M ] Tommy and May go on an overnight trip to purchase a horse.

James / Tommy Shelby

This was Nothing by AbusiveLittleBun || [ E ] Tommy is frustrated after another meeting with Alfie and he needs an outlet. Luckily it finds him first.

Salt and Mint by AbusiveLittleBun || [ E ] Tommy was forced to remain for dinner at Ada's, in fear of James revealing their little secret, and makes a deal with the boy for his good behavior... things escalate very quickly.

Like Thunder, Like Lightning by AbusiveLittleBun || [ E ] Tommy feels torn after his hasty departure from Ada's, and a surprising phone call might, or might not help him move forward...

R U Mine? by AbusiveLittleBun || [ E ] Tommy goes back to James, but it also comes with more consequences than he imagined... (Direct sequel to Like Thunder, Like Lightning!)

Jessie Eden / Ada Shelby

Dress by Keine_angst || [ G ] Now that she's made peace with her feelings towards Jessie Eden, there was only one obstacle left. The dress.

Hungry for (Your) Love by Keine_angst || [ G ] “Tommy, sweetheart, how can you expect me to agree to do something for you if you don’t explain what do you need from me?” she pointed out the obvious, because really, it wouldn’t be safe to just say yes and take the pot luck, not when Thomas Shelby was in charge. Ada agrees to help her brother out, but things get out of hand.

Billy Grade / Finn Shelby

Beyond Redemption (Just a Pawn) by Valkrist || [ M ] Finn was angry, fucking angry. Should’ve probably known that it all would come this way. Done something against it. Then again, what could he have done? Tommy hadn’t told him that much, trying to keep him away from this bad kind of business. Football bets were alright, but nothing more. Didn’t need to ship cocaine or opium or whatever this was about. Bets like in the good old times, having Billy to write everything down.

Gina Gray / Oswald Mosley

White Swan by Valkrist || [ M ] It was funny how they all hadn’t noticed it at all, Mosley thought. Such blind people. Didn’t see it, maybe simply didn’t want to, who was to say that. He hadn’t been truly interested in joining this dance - an evening with a bunch of fucking Gypsies wasn’t exactly his idea of a well spent time - but apparently there were some good things about occasions of that kind. Well, as long as he ignored the opium, cocaine and brandy. Really didn’t seem to know the rules, this silly people.

Lizzie Stark / Tommy Shelby

Again by Emjen_Enla || [ T ] Tommy rolled over. Again. Or Tommy and Lizzie mostly fail at this sharing a bed thing.

Bonnie Gold / Goliath

Raise the Boxing Gloves by Valkrist || [ M ] Poor boy didn’t know what dreamless nights were anymore. Always had something to think about, adventures happening, a combination of all the things he had experienced. Sometimes bad, sometimes good, sometimes it was simply unclear. But Goliath could beat it all out of him if he wasn’t careful enough. Made him forget with ease, his senses focussing on some little, often rather unimportant details. An impressive and talented young man.

Ollie / Alfie Solomons

Our Bones May Turn to Stone but Hearts like Ours Don’t Rust by Valkrist || [ T ] The dunes, the water, the sand, it was all calming. Ollie simply couldn’t get used to it after having spend so much time in London, knowing all the dirt of Camden. Muddy shoes, blood, he had seen it all, even though it was way better than Birmingham, if Alfie was to be believed.

Luca Changretta / Tommy Shelby

Now and Forever by AbusiveLittleBun || [ E ] Luca is enchanted with the beautiful blue-eyed boy that attends the school he helps his mother at, little does he know Tommy Shelby feels the same way towards him...

Boysenberry Tie, with Periwinkle Eyes by WTSL_Writer_of_Things || [ G ] The bow was strange and new, the colour hard to come by and find. It wasn't often people managed to dye a bow that colour, so he snatched it up and bright it home to his blue eyes doll. Years go by and he finds that colour again, this time as a tie, and he gets the tie for his new Periwinkle eyed lover, who he practically drops to the floor for. So he gets a boysenberry tie, for the Periwinkle eyes of his strange lover.

Oswald Mosley / Tommy Shelby

Coat Wrapped Around His Shoulders by Valkrist || [ M ] It was a miracle, a fucking miracle.Tommy still didn’t know how Barney had stayed alive, but he had. Could have shot Mosley marvelously if it weren’t for this horrible interruption. A life for a life, except both people had stayed alive this time. And this was the other side of the coin. Mosley was still alive. A wonderful plan, all for nothing. So much effort put into it, all for nothing. But at least they hadn’t caught them, so Tommy could still keep his cover. Could enter the hospital without people suspecting him, ready to figure it all out.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #ada thorne #lizzie stark #jessie eden #tatiana petrovna #may carleton #oswald mosley #gina gray #finn shelby #barney thompson #chester campbell #luca changretta #long post

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lilwritingraven · 4 years

Text

Searching for Hope

Part Five

Masterlink

John Seed x Female Deputy/OC

Summary: The Pyro Boys team up with Audry for a little renovating.

Trigger Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you all for your support of this story. @proudspires has been such a doll, helping me by beta reading it and listening to my ramblings. This story is now also on AO3! :)

**************************************************************

“Sharky, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“That’s ridiculous, this is the best idea I’ve had all week!”

The two stood at the bottom of Joseph’s statue, peggies scattered at their feet, Hurk Jr. checking the bodies for supplies. Audry was looking at Sharky, whose attention was on the statue, eyes alight with a look Audry didn’t like.

“Listen,” Audry sighed, turning away from the ugly monument. “I don’t like it just as much as the next guy, but it would be like painting a giant target on our location.” She cut her eyes to the side, looking up at him. “And I don’t think I need to remind you of my… Situation.”

For the past three weeks, no one had spoken much about the pregnancy, choosing instead to label it “the situation.” Audry wasn’t sure if it was because they wanted to ignore it, or just keep it a secret from John Seed a little longer.

Eventually they’d have to deal with it.

“We’ll be out of here by the time the first piece hits the ground. Hey, Hurk!” Sharky shouted, calling his cousin over. “Whaddya say we blow this thing to bits?”

Hurk’s face brightened exponentially, leaving Audry grimacing. “Hell yeah! Why, that’d be funner than the time my daddy let me drive the jeep in the sand dunes!”

Outranked, two to one. It was how it had always been, growing up around the two. A silent vote, though none of them had ever mentioned the rules of it. It just went without saying that if at least two of them were in on something, all of them were. Audry had never much liked those odds with these guys.

“Fine! But you,” she pointed a finger up at Hurk. “Get to explain this to Adelaide.” That got Hurk to hesitate, if only momentarily.

“Ah, it’ll be fine ‘Dree. We’ll just blast him to the moon and be on our way!”

Audry knew it wouldn’t be that simple; it never was. But the look of pure unadulterated joy on their faces was enough for her to sigh and say: “Where’s the c4?”

_________________

It, indeed, was not that simple. What they had thought would take one big blow, ended up taking multiple. That was problem number one.

Problem number two was the fact that they hadn’t thought about where the rubble would land. They were still at the bottom as it started raining around them, sending the earth rumbling and the dirt flying. Heavy smoke from all the explosions filled the air with a heady smell of gunpowder.

Sharky and Hurk were having the time of their lives. Audry couldn’t stop coughing long enough to tell which way was up or down.

Then the gunfire started.

She had just enough time to duck into the base of the statue before they could spot her. The idiot twins were outside shouting to each other, something Audry didn’t even try to make out. With nowhere else to go, she decided up was her best option.

I am not afraid of heights, she reminded herself, climbing higher, higher, higher up the beams. When she finally reaches the top, is the world swaying? She pulls out her radio, hoping desperately she’s still in range.

“Adelaide, it’s Audry. Think you could uh, give me a lift in Tulip? Over.” Slow breaths. Do. Not. Look. Down.

“-might as well just burn the damn thing.” Someone, Sheriff Whitehorse? Was speaking to her. “It should be up on top of that monstrosity. Over.”

Dumbfounded, Audry said, “I’m sorry, you want me to burn what?” Then, realizing her mistake; “Over.”

“Joseph Seed’s first book is up on that thing. I want you to find it and destroy it Deputy. It’ll be a good step in liberating our region. Over.” Audry felt like a fish, mouth opening then closing again, trying to find the words to say.

She couldn’t help feeling like a high school bully, but if Whitehorse said it’s what they needed then-

Who knew books were so hard to burn? It took three, three, of her incendiary arrows.

“I’m disappointed Deputy.” Oh crap oh crapohcrap. “That book held many memories of my past, of growing Eden’s gate into what it has become.” Joseph’s voice drawls through her radio, because of course he would know what she was up to. He probably had cameras around the whole place. “I’m afraid that little show of rebellion can’t go unpunished. Don’t fight it deputy, we wouldn’t want any harm to come to that unborn child of yours.”

All Audry could do was stare in shock at the figures appearing from the ladder. They didn’t look like the normal peggies down in Holland Valley, or even Faith’s angels. These people all wore a red ski mask, looking for all the world like they were on some bank heist.

“Darlin’,” Adelaide’s voice blared at her, a distant recognition. “T-minus 5 minutes. Think you can stay alive for me until then?”

Audry wasn’t aware that her hand had grasped the radio until it was held to her mouth, the button pressed under her fingers. “Somehow,” she breathed. “I don’t think they want to kill me.”

None of the figures made a move, seeming to be waiting for something. For me, she realized. They were waiting to see if she would go with them or make a run for it.

“Just go with my Chosen, Deputy.” Audry closed her eyes, her head falling back in exasperation. This voice was rougher, deeper than the others. Jacob. “You won’t win.” A spark of annoyance flared in her. He was so certain. Like he just knew poor, small, little Audry wouldn’t be able to escape.

She set her jaw; mind made up for her. In the distance, she imagined she could hear the whirring of helicopter blades. Pressing the button once more, she said, “How about this? You guys can go f-“

Her curse was cut short, an explosion shaking the ground beneath them. Audry’s radio flew to the ground, skittering off the edge. Well, that’s gone. Then, mercifully, the deafening roar of the helicopter. Her hair flew up, around, led by the wind.

“Audry, get out of here!” Sharky, bless his heart. He was always there to save her. Thoughts of her high school years coursed through her mind, too fast for her to think on deeply. Without having to be told twice, she stood and ran, ran, ran, towards the edge where Adelaide was waiting with Tulip.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

Without giving herself time to think about it, she jumped.

#john seed #oc:audry rook #john seed x female deputy #deputy rook #far cry 5 #fc5 #far cry 5 fanfic #sharky boshaw #hurk drubman jr #joseph seed #jacob seed #adelaide drubman

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jonroxton · 3 years

Note

I don't know who needs to hear this but Lady Jessica is Muh'Queen and she deserves the world!

However, I'm kinda nervous for the new movie, because, I've heard a rumor from several test screenings that Alia doesn't come up ... like at all. As in, not even acknowledging that Jessica is pregnant.

And I don't know how well you know Dune lore, but in the books, Frank Herbert had originally written that Alia "The Abomination" came from the fact that she was Paul and Jessica's kid - due to the fact that Jessica is technically and legally Paul's concubine since she was a bought slave girl bound to the Duke and never married Leto, so in the eyes of the Imperium (and the Freman) she's actually Paul's property inherited from Duke to Duke (Having nothing to do with my 90's R&B revival group Duke2Duke.)

And the only thing that made Herbert change this is that the publishers in the 1960s said they wouldn't publish his manuscript if it had Mother/Son incest. But afterward every Dune adaptation (except for the mini-series) have written in Paul + Jessica = Alia and its changed at the last minute every time.

And I feel, because of Game of Thrones, that the new Dune adaptation is gonna finally do it. That we're gonna get a time jump in a sequel and Alia is born and they're gonna strongly hint that she's Paul and Jessica's kid.

Compounding on this is the testimonial from test screenings that after Leto dies that Paul and Jessica's relationship changes and she becomes less a mother and more what she was to Leto sort of becoming Paul's partner/body guard/ and cuddle buddy, which, fair enough, she was that for Paul in the books too in the early days of being with the Fremen ... but there's talk among audience and crew members that they're building Paul and Jessica up into something other than just mother and son.

Like the stunt and fight coordinator did an interview where he was talking about a very physically grabby and emotional sequence of Jessica teaching Paul the 'weirding way' of fighting and he said "But I don't know if the studio is gonna make them cut it out' which makes you wonder, especially since it had always been the studio that had intervened in Atreides incest in the past ...

I mean, even Children of Dune on Scifi is chalk-a-full of innuendo between Alia and Paul, and Leto and Ganni.

Listen, I know this is the second time I've sent in a concern of mother/son incest ... and listen, I ain't saying that I might not ship Jon/Lois ... just a little. But I want a Dune sequel and I feel people are not gonna be down with Paul/Jessica ... even if after they both drink the water of life Paul knows what its like to have sex with Jessica ... as does her entire family to be honest.

Which is weird.

Look, I'm just a simple man coming to the only other dune fan I know on this hell site cause I just got ...

I've got concerns, man ... ya'boi's got concerns.

I believe it lol. the bene gesserit breeding program is so convoluted and weird by heretics of dune that the shockingly inbred nature of the atreides heirs became the rule not the exception. I think this was always Herbert's intention, working from the kwizatz haderach , the zenith of eugenics superiority (whatever that means), to the base uncontrollable endless succession of gholas and heirs who are nothing but pawns for a grander scheme (like always). by heretics the alia analog Lucille is straight up trying to seduce Miles the leto analog. So yeah, it's everywhere and it makes sense that Herbert toyed with bringing it out overtly by having alia as Paul and Jessica's child as early as the first book.

as to your other concerns, I have two things for ya, hopefully helpful:

1. rumors abound so take everything you read with a grain of salt. remember that every report and leak is out of context. you're getting one snippet of one scene from a two hour movie from Some Dude Online. remember all the spoilers you've read for tv shows and movies that ended up being so far off the mark that it reads back like fanfic. you're in shrodinger's dune territory here lol Paul/Jessica happens and doesn't happen and you won't know until you see it.

2. from what I've read the movie will end with the Jamis incident and there is no feyd so no final showdown. that alone tells us the movie will encompass the move, the betrayal and the attack, with Paul's induction to the Fremen as the end. everything else put off to the possible second movie. alia (and feyd) not appearing doesn't change much of anything story wise, so I say don't stress over it. we don't even know if we're gonna get part 2 for them to even try to pull that Paul/Jessica card. eugenics screws things up for thousands of years and that's bad is one of dune's many thesis. Herbert was forced to change that aspect, but he didn't change it anywhere else and I don’t think the movie will either. so strap in kiddos, time to get sci fi uncomfortable lol

annnnd I think dune is gonna alienate tons of people, same way each successive book after the first dune saw people leave the series for it's weirdness. they're gonna go in expecting Star Wars or even 2001 and gonna come out wondering

what if like the whole world was addicted to special heroin oil that fueled space ships and everything was controlled by mind reading nuns who want to control god. I. CANNOT. WAIT.

#mystuff #thephantomcasebook #dune #dune Is really like EUGENICS IS TERRIFYING BE CAREFUL GUYS #DO DRUGS!#anyways yeah #ask away I love these!

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atamascolily · 4 years

Text

let’s talk about the Bene Gesserit

When Paul meets Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohamian of the Bene Gesserit, he identifies the order’s purpose right away: “Politics.” The Reverend Mother is surprised, and gives Jessica the side-eye to see if Jessica has spilled secrets, but Jessica denies it. I don’t know whether to believe Jessica or not here because Jessica has told Paul all kinds of things, but I’m going to assume Jessica is telling the truth here, and this is supposed to be yet another sign Paul is super-smart, super-observant, the Chosen One, etc, etc.

But I want to know: what does the rest of the galaxy think the Bene Gesserit do?

Pretty much every female character in Dune who’s not Fremen is Bene Gesserit, or at least has some degree of training from them. All of them are linked to powerful men: Jessica is a ducal concubine and mother of his heir; Margot is wife to Count Fenring (and presumably only allowed to marry him and be a Lady in her own right because the Count is a “eunuch” and can’t bear children); Irulan is a princess and the Emperor’s daughter. Even the Reverend Mother, once the superintendent of the Bene Gesserit school on Wallach IX, is now the Emperor’s Truthsayer. And the narrative goes out of its way to mention that Thufir Hawat specifically purchased Jessica for Duke Leto, and cleared her for the Atreides household.

So, are the Bene Gesserit seen as a religious order? A finishing school for ladies of the ruling class? Are they the futuristic equivalent of medieval nunneries, except with less embroidery and more manners? All of the above?

In reality, the Bene Gesserit are all-female order on a self-directed mission to provide “a thread of continuity in human affairs”. They do this by a secret breeding program, separating humans from “animals” by means of various tests (one of which Paul undergoes in the novel’s opening scene). The Bene Gesserit schools are filled with the (presumably female) offspring of this breeding program, as well as any other genetic lines they’re interested in manipulating. Many, like Jessica, are kept ignorant of their heritage by the higher-ups so they can secretly breed back into the line (ironically, a standard technique in animal breeding!). Apparently, the BG have found out the hard way that outright incest is a hard sell, so they keep the participants in the dark, which is... horrifying. The BG’s stated goal is to create a Kwisatz Haderach, a man who can look into the void that no BG [female] Truthsayer can see, “into both feminine and masculine pasts”.

Leaving aside the irony of an all-female organization seeking to create a man more powerful than they are, I don’t understand why the Kwisatz Haderach has to be male; it seems like a female Kwisatz Haderach who can see into both her male and female ancestral lines ought to be equally possible. Even if you argue that those male ancestral memories are inextricably linked to a Y chromosome or some other vaguely scientific rationale, it’s a) never explained anywhere in the book that I can recall, and b) Paul’s sister Alia will have this ability--and in fact will be haunted by at least one male ancestor to her extreme detriment. Maybe the BG are trying to create a male Kwisatz Haderach because they think men are easier to manipulate and control? Or do they not know what they’re talking about?

The Emperor knows the BG are useful; that’s why he has a Truthsayer and presumably was okay with them training his daughter, but he doesn’t seem to know the BG are manipulating his wife and concubines to make sure he has only daughters, so they can marry said daughters to a match of their choice. The BG orders Jessica to do the same thing, and she defies them because Duke Leto really, really wants a son. Does that mean the BG are always supposed to bear female children to keep the order going, or did Jessica and Irulan’s mother receive special orders on account of their positions? I don’t think this is ever made clear, and it bugs me.

I also don’t understand why the BG don’t... do something (anything!) when Jessica defies them and has Paul instead. Granted, Paul is the duke’s heir, he’s protected from assassins in general, but it seems like the BG might have had some way of influencing/punishing Jessica for her disobedience and they... don’t. At all. And I don’t get it. If Jessica’s act is so courageous--as Irulan later assess that it is in her history--what are the consequences?

The Reverend Mother sarcastically says Jessica defied the orders and had a son because she was arrogant enough to think she could produce the Kwisatz Haderach at last. Jessica says she suspected the possibility, but what made her think that? She doesn’t even know who her parents are! She hasn’t passed the final tests to be a Reverend Mother (and her defiance presumably knocked her off that track because the BG can’t trust her with that level of power), so why would she think HER SON would be the Chosen One? I don’t get it. Is Jessica being sarcastic here, too?

The Reverend Mother says Jessica did it because she loved Leto and didn’t want to disappoint him, which Jessica admits to. The Reverend Mother’s mostly angry because her plan was to wed an Atreides daughter to the Harkonnen heir and maybe put a stop to all the infighting between the two families (or compound it further? or for other reasons that only make sense when you learn who Jessica’s father really is?) Now with Paul as the heir, that’s not possible--because marriage is all about biological progeny, property, and heteronormativity in this book--and the Reverend Mother is annoyed mainly because the BG might lose both bloodlines in all the forthcoming violence.

I guess this begs the question of to what extent a BG agent is their own operative, and to what extent they are controlled/under the influence of the order as a whole? The Reverend Mother seems sympathetic to Jessica, saying, “Each of us must make her own path,” which implies some degree of independent agency. She also sees that Jessica has been teaching Paul the BG Way, and “I’d have done the same thing in your shoes and devil take the Rules”. And she encourages Jessica to train him in the Voice, because she thinks that’s the only way Paul’s going to survive the Harkonnen treachery to come (which she knows about because she’s presumably privy to much of the Emperor’s behind-the-scenes scheming with the Harkonnens).

And then the Reverend Mother walks out “with not another backward glance” and we don’t see her again until the final scene. “The room and its occupants already were shut from her thoughts.” And Jessica is freaked out by the fact the Reverend Mother is crying as she walks away.

Why is she crying? Does she genuinely love Jessica as her “own daughter” as she claims, and she regrets that Jessica is either going to die or be a fugitive with a price on her head once the Harkonnen trap is sprung? Is she upset about what could have been, and wasn’t? Is she regretful of all the genetic material and possibilities, thousands of years of careful work and preparation obliterated by forces she has no intention of stopping? All of the above??

I don’t know why the Reverend Mother shows up to test Paul’s humanity at the beginning. Is it because she’s curious? Or does she have no choice given Paul’s lineage, and her suspicions/Jessica’s assertions that Paul really might be the Kwisatz Haderach? Did Jessica ask for it, because she knows Paul needs this test in order to move to the next level in his training and she’s not emotionally equipped to administer it? All of the above?

And the Reverend Mother looks straight at Paul, saying outright that she sees the possibility/potential for him to become the Kwisatz Haderach and walks away... why??

Conclusion: The Watsonian explanation is that the BG talk a mean game, but they’re not as smart as they think they are. The Doylist explanation is that Frank Herbert wanted to set up his plot just so and didn’t care if the BG looked stupid in the process.

But this got even weirder when I realized there was an appendix in my edition (which I had never read before) claiming to be an in-universe “Report on Bene Gesserit Motives and Purposes” written for Lady Jessica “immediately after the Arrakis Affair,” which comes to the exact same conclusions.

The report does clarify that the BG expected the child of Jessica and Leto’s daughter and Feyd-Ruatha Harkonnen to have a high probability of being the Kwisatz Haderach. So Jessica’s decision to skip ahead on the program a generation wasn’t such a long-shot after all.

Except: “For reasons she confesses have never been completely clear to her, the concubine Lady Jessica defied her orders and bore a son”. So Jessica herself doesn’t even know why she did it...!! But she must have known some of this, because why else would she train/test Paul the way she did, or admit to the Reverend Mother she thought it was possible in the first place?

The writer goes on to note that BG knew teenage Paul had prescient dreams, the Reverend Mother failed to mention that his humanity test had broken records in her report (not mentioned in the book itself!!); that the BG knew that spice could amplify psychic powers... and did nothing to stop Jessica and Paul from going there and eating a fuckton of spice; and didn’t make the connection that the rumors of a guerilla prophet leader born of a Bene Gesserit mother and destined to be the savior might have some connection to the two people who had disappeared shortly beforehand (!!!); plus some stuff about their dealings with the Spacers’ Guild and the complications of a higher-order nexus they couldn’t see past, which ought to have alerted them that someone more powerful than they were was messing around with the future.

“In the face of these facts, one is led to the inescapable conclusion that the inefficient Bene Gesserit behavior in this affair was a product of an even higher plan of which they were completely unaware!”

And on that note, the report ends and I just... cannot believe that Herbert deliberately lampshades the BG’s incompetence--and then concludes that “God [aka the author] did it”. Because unless I missed something important and Paul meddles with the past somehow, I don’t know how else to interpret this...

I suppose this report might be written by an unreliable narrator--like every other in-universe document in this book--but then what is even the point if we never get any answers..?

#dune #dune meta #bene gesserit #what is canon

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jaeminlore · 5 years

Text

Darlin’ | Lucas

summary: i love the way you soften my life with your love

words: 4K+

category: biker!lucas, fluff, tattooist on the boardwalk!lucas, reader just wants some sun

“I told you, I don’t want to move.” You open one eye and squint towards your best friend, Hana, who for some reason can never sit still.

It’s summer break, you can’t help but think. Exams just ended and it’s time to stay on the beach every day until you turn into a merperson. Summers in Salos are the best for this reason, and you have decided to spend your first week of summer promptly sleeping on the beach.

Hana doesn’t know how to relax, or rather, doesn’t know how to stop putting her nose in places that don’t belong. “But the bike show is starting today. There are going to be so many hot guys and girls there with their bikes.”

“I want a bike,” you grumble. Your timer beeps, so you restart it and turn on your back. “Go check them out and I’ll be here.”

Hana whines and pulls the hem of your bottoms, letting the waistband snap against your skin. “I can’t go alone!”

“Ow!” You rub at your waist. “I’m coming, okay? But you’re buying me dinner afterward.”

“Whatever,” Hana grabs your arm as soon as you’re done covering your top half with a hoodie. “Let’s go, I heard that all those hot tattoo artists have their bikes set up in front of their shop.”

You know what shop she’s talking about. It’s Neo Tattoos, owned by a few handsome, yet intimidating boys. They’re often the center of attention at most beach parties, always revving their bikes too loud in the parking lot just beside the beach. Parties with them are always exciting, because they come armed with a stick and poke gun and a business card for the customer’s more sober morning, where they can cover up what they drunkenly got at the party.

Businessmen, for sure.

“What do you even do at a bike show?” You grab your bag and swing it over your shoulder. Hana barely waits for you to slip your sandals on before she’s forcing you to trudge up the sand dunes, past the snow cone cart, up to one of the many boardwalk entrances.

An entire part of the boardwalk is set up with bikes. People’s motorcycles line the pathways, and their owners just sit in lawn chairs with cups of beer, waiting for someone to come up and spark a conversation about their souped up motor vehicles. Tourists fall right into the trap, traveling to the island just to take a peak at what these people have been working on for the entire year.

You like the show, mostly because you have sort of always wanted a motorbike, and these shows are a nice chance to find people willing to seek their old rides. But they can be terribly boring, and you have no idea why Hana would put the two of you through it. Even if there are cute boys attending.

Neo Tattoos sits further down the boardwalk, away from the pier and closer to the nightlife scene. Bars and restaurants line the boardwalk for people who have spent their entire day shopping or swimming. There’s a club somewhere around here, run by the same people who keep the karaoke cabana down by the beach up and running.

You stop on the way, looking at the different bikes. Hana drags you on, and the two of you stop just in front of the tattoo parlor.

The place doesn’t look like it belongs in front of a beach. The entire storefront is made of black bricks, all splattered with different neon paint. It looks cool at night, the neon paint glows in the dark and draws excited university students in.

You’ve considered getting a tattoo there, but you aren’t sure you what design you want. Even if you did, you might go to a different one just to escape the embarrassment that is Hana around cute boys.

Apparently today, you don’t get a choice.

There’s an annoying tingling of chimes that rings throughout the shop as soon as the two of you enter.

The man behind the counter greets the two of you. “I’m Johnny. What can I get for you two, today?”

“I want a tattoo,” Hana says. She’s putting on that sugary sweet voice that can win over just about anyone’s heart. “But I only have a twenty.”

You want to call bull on her lying ass, but she’s batting her eyelashes at Johnny and he seems to be actually considering it.

“Let’s see what we can do,” Johnny winks at Hana and then cuts his gaze towards you. “Did you want one too?”

“Not today, thanks.” You hug your arms close to yourself. “I’m just here to support.”

Johnny stands up, and he’s a pretty big guy. He towers over you both, with his wide, but lanky, posture. He’s wearing a white t-shirt tucked into blue jeans, and a long chain hangs off his neck.

You’re eye-level with the lock charm on the chain.

“Follow me,” he says. “Lucas is the only one taking walk-ins today, so hopefully you like his style.”

“She doesn’t get to choose a style with only twenty bucks to her name,” you quip, making Johnny laugh.

He turns the corner into a small, square room, where only one tattoo chair occupies the floor. Some unknown song plays from the large black and yellow speakers. It’s surfing music, something similar to The Beach Boys. It fits the location, but rejects the atmosphere of black and neon that these boys have cemented as their staple design.

There’s a sketching desk in the corner, where the previously mentioned speakers rest alongside a large monitor. The screen is taken fully by photoshop, where a tattoo design basks, just waiting to be praised.

You walk over; rest you hand on the back of the rolling chair, and stare at the design. It’s black and white ink. The silhouette is of a shark, but the body is a drawing of the beach. His fin is a wave, and his underbelly is the sand. It’s really beautiful. And when you look up at the sketches on the wall and notice that all of them are similar in their surrealistic nature. Charcoal sketches of beach scenes and ocean life and local fauna have you sort of mesmerized from the start.

“Do you like them?” Someone asks you from behind. It’s a new voice: deep and boyish, and you feel suddenly vulnerable for looking so deeply into someone else’s art.

“They’re really good,” You turn around as you reply, and any other words that might have made their way to your mouth are swallowed back down your throat, along with your dignity.

He’s just as tall as Johnny — Does this place only hire tall guys? — but he’s cuter, in your opinion. You can barely see his big eyes, hidden behind dark brown strands of hair. You follow the line of his nose down until you reach his lips. They’re ruddy and seem to be permanently formed into a pretty pout.

Then he’s smiling, and his teeth are bright and straight and you feel you breath knock out of your chest.

You manage to tear your eyes away from his mouth long enough to form a coherent sentence. “They’re really beautiful. Worth much more than twenty dollars.”

“Sorry?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

Johnny nudges Hana forward gently. “Lucas, this is Hana. Hana, Lucas. She wants a tattoo but only has twenty dollars.”

Hana gives Lucas a shy wave. “Sorry if it’s an inconvenience.”

“Not at all!” Lucas chuckles, and it’s soft and melodic and boyish. “Most of these are customs or just freehand. Tell me what you’re thinking design-wise, and I’ll see what I can cook up.“

Lucas walks past you to sit on his chair, so you retreat to the wall, awkwardly cocking your hip, arms crossed over your chest.

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Johnny slaps the doorframe and heads back towards the front of the shop, and you’re left to wonder what you’re supposed to do.

Lucas uses the wheeled chair to get around. He wheels to the other side of the desk and pulls a large binder out of one of the drawers. “Here are some of my minimalist designs. That’s pretty much all a twenty is going to get you, so see if any of these interest or inspire you.”

Hana flips through the book, and Lucas turns to you. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/n,” you say, shifting your posture. “Here for moral support.”

Lucas locks his gaze into yours and repeats you name slowly, like he’s mulling it over. “Y/n. Would you like to sit down? You can take my spinny chair and I’ll go get a spare stool.”

“Are you sure—” he’s out of the room before you can finish your concern. You turn to Hana and shrug.

“He’s cute,” she whispers. She sits back on the chair and straightens her shirt.

You sit in the chair and roll over to the other side of Hana’s chair. “Are you gonna ignore the google eyes Johnny was giving you?”

“Oh, of course not.” Hana waves away your concern. “I got his number while you were snooping on Lucas’ monitor.”

“I wasn’t snooping!”

“You so were,” Hana grins at you, resting her chin on the palm of her head. “Anyways, I was gonna say Lucas is cute for you.”

“You’re impossible,” you shove her shoulder back with a shake of your head. “What did I say about summer boyfriends?”

“We don’t need them.” Hana pouts. She sticks her tongue out at you just as Lucas walks in. “I’m gonna get one anyway.”

“Get what?” Lucas sets his stool on the other side of Hana’s chair and looks at you.

You blink. “Um...” You avert your eyes to the loose thread sticking out of the chair handle. “Hana wants us each to have summer boyfriends.”

Lucas hums. He turns back to his desk and extracts the tattoo gun and a wrapped needle. He unwraps it and fits it in the gun. “Just for the summer?” His eyes are twinkling. Again, he’s asking you. It’s like Hana isn’t even in the room, which is new to you because everyone notices Hana first.

You almost answer. You’re about to when Hana shoves the book into Lucas’ hand. “I want the key design.”

Lucas pulls his gaze away from you and smiles at Hana. “Alright, let’s get started!”

☼

You visit the bike show later that week on your lunch break. Working at the small perfume shop on the boardwalk can be fun, but it certainly makes you want fresh air by noon.

You take a sip of the lemonade you bought and browse the bikes, stopping every once in awhile to talk to the owners.

“Y/n!” Lucas’ voice rings across the boardwalk. He’s in front of Neo Tattoos, leaning against a cherry red Ducati.

It’s way too hot for him to be wearing what he’s wearing. He’s wearing black skinny jeans and a leather jacket. His hair is down across his forehead again, slightly matted with sweat. He wipes his forehead and waves at you, arm long and tall above everyone’s head.

He looks incredibly dorky, and it puts a smile on your face. You walk over. “Aren’t you hot?”

“Just a little bit,” Lucas pinches his thumb and pointer finger together. Then he runs his fingers through his bangs and pushes them off of his forehead. “I look cooler this way, though.”

You look around, to see everyone else with their bikes. Most of them are in their swimsuits, or at least wearing only bottoms. You turn back to Lucas and push your lemonade towards him. “Take a sip before you get a heatstroke. And take off your jacket, at least.”

Lucas shrugs off his jacket, to reveal a red t-shirt underneath. “At least I match my bike.”

“This is yours?” You reach out and touch the shiny chrome. “It’s pretty.”

“Thank you!” Lucas brightens up. He slaps the seat. “It’s the first thing I bought after opening Neo with Johnny.”

“I’m gonna get one one day,” you tell him. He gives you your lemonade cup back and you take a sip. “And a tattoo.”

“You’re gonna ask me to do it, right?” Lucas grins down at you.

How could you say no to that face? “Yeah. I really liked that shark design, if it isn’t reserved.”

“No,” Lucas hugs his jacket to his chest. “I was just messing around with designs. Give me a call when you’re ready, alright? I’ll give you my number.”

You return from your lunch break with an empty lemonade cup, the number of a cute boy, and a smile on your face.

☼

The next time you get a day off, you head over to Neo Tattoos for your appointment with Lucas.

You two have been texting back and forth throughout the days. You’ve found that Lucas has a large arsenal of memes always at the ready. Another thing you’ve realized is that Lucas is the most adorable person you’ve ever known. He texts you every morning with a little picture of a baby sea turtle or dolphin or other baby marine animal. You reply with a random puppy picture you find on twitter, and every day it makes never fails to trigger an onslaught of heart emojis from Lucas.

It’s really cute.

Lucas is really cute. It’s probably too early to call it a crush, but it certainly feels like one, especially when you get called out by Hana for smiling at your text messages.

The chimes ring when you enter the parlor. “Hi, Johnny.”

“Lucas! Y/n is here!” Johnny yells into the hallway before turning to you. “He has been talking about this appointment all day.”

“Can you shut up?” You hear Lucas before you see him. He comes out of his room and smiles. “Hey, Y/n.”

“Hey, Lucas.” You scurry towards the back room, if only to avoid Johnny’s knowing stare. “How was your day?”

“Good. Better now that you’re here.” Lucas cocks his head to the side and gives you a cheesy smirk.

You shove his shoulder back and climb onto the big chair. “Let’s get this over with. I have a date with the sun later.”

Lucas falls back into his spinning chair and scoots himself towards you. He rests his elbows beside your thigh and gleams up at you. “You’re gonna ditch me for a nap in the sun?”

He looks so boyishly handsome, smiling at you like that. He looks like someone in love. Like someone who is staring at their significant other in admiration.

It makes you feel vulnerable and naked. You clear your throat and shove your arm in front of his face. “So, forearm?”

Lucas turns on some music and gets started, stopping every few minutes to check with you. “Does it hurt?”

“Not too bad,” you say with a shake of your head. “Just a little sting here and there.”

Lucas holds his left palm out. “You can always squeeze my hand if it gets too much.”

“Do you want to hold my hand that bad, Lucas?” you tease, and the pink that creeps up his neck is enough for you to reach forward and grab his hand.

You hold it in your lap while he finishes up the tattoo, never really squeezing it. At most, you run your thumb along the back of his hand.

It feels good, his large hand encased in yours. His skin is almost as warm as the smile he gives you from time to time.

Soon, with a low hum and one last wipe down, your tattoo is done. “Let me bandage it, and then you can go one your stupid date.”

You giggle. “Are you jealous of the sun, Lucas?”

Lucas brings your hand to his cheek and hums, looking up to the ceiling. “Of course I’m jealous. I want you to spend more time with me.”

“What would you have in mind?”

Lucas looks surprised. The color reappears in his cheeks and he clears his throat to collect himself. “Would you like to go on a ride with me? We could drive down to the pier and watch the sunset?”

You blink. Is Lucas asking you on a date? An actual date? As in, he likes you?

“U-Uh, yeah.” You match his grin and feel your chest warm. More confidently, you manage a nod. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

☼

You pick up dinner while Lucas finishes up his shift, and when you return, he’s got that stupid leather jacket on again. He sees the bag of fast food and opens his backpack. “Do you mind wearing this on the way?”

“No,” you giggle. “But let’s get going. I’m hungry.”

Lucas swings his leg over the seat and passes a helmet to you. He revs his bike. “As you wish.”

You swing your legs around and grab his waist, clasping your hands together. Palms against his abdomen, you can feel the smooth lines underneath. It flusters you. Still, you don’t move your hands for the bigger fear of falling off.

Besides, being this close to Lucas is quite nice.

Lucas parks his bike next to a bicycle rack just off the pier’s entrance.

“I’m not sure you can park here, Lucas.”

Lucas looks ethereal in the light of the setting sun. His large eyes peer down at you, and with a smile grazing his features, he looks like an angel. He shrugs, “It says bike rack.”

“You’re crazy,” you say, eyes bright.

Lucas bumps his shoulder against yours and grabs for your hand. Linking his fingers with yours, he swings your hands back and forth as the two of you walk towards the end of the pier.

There’s a railing for public safety. Lucas fits his long legs through the lower bars anyways. His feet dangle in the air. “Let’s eat!” He raises his fists in the air.

You avoid the annoyed stares of onlookers and follow Lucas’ actions. You fit your legs under the bars.

The two of you eat burgers and watch as the sunset returns to its bed behind the sea.

“It’s beautiful,” Lucas says. He reaches his hands out towards the darkening sky. “I love this island. I never want to leave.”

“Me neither,” you sigh. The lighthouse beam switches on, and the beam falls over the two of you before finding its place in the air. You watch the light turn. “I’m glad I came out here with you.”

Lucas grins. His cheeks are blossoming into reds and pinks and you like the way flustered looks on him. “Me too,” he says. “Genuinely. I really like you.”

“I like you too.” You scoot closer to him and rest your head against his arm. “A lot.”

☼

The sun is scorching. It causes an instant sweat the moment you walk under the rays. “Alright, Jaemin?”

The lifeguard waves at you from his perch, a silver whistle pressed between his lips. “Lucas was looking for you,” he says around the metal.

“Don’t tell him I’m here,” you say. “Give me a minute underneath the sun without him or Hana ruining it.”

“Copy,” Jaemin says with a salute, giggling at your perturbed expression. He’s been particularly happy lately. You wonder why.

No matter, you decide, choosing to focus on your plans for today: laying in the sun and ignoring life in general.

The island fills your senses. The sound of the waves; of children playing; of seagulls screaming for food. It’s everything Salos is, and it feels like home. Nothing makes you feel more at peace than here, on the beach. To feel the sand beneath you and know the entire ocean is only a few yards away; that’s heaven.

What isn’t heaven is when a large cloud covers the sun, keeping you from receiving warmth.

You open your eyes, ready to glare at the cloud in annoyance.

Only it isn’t a cloud; it’s Lucas. His large frame blocks the sun from you. His smile is just as bright, though, so you find yourself not minding quite as much. “Hey, Lucas. What’s up?”

Lucas gives you an apologetic grin and sheds his leather jacket. “Sorry for bothering you. I was on my break and I saw you over here. Can I sit with you?”

“Go for it.” You scoot over on the towel so Lucas has room.

He plops down, dropping his backpack in front of him. He extracts an apple. “Do you want one? I packed two.”

You take a bite of the offered apple and lean your arm against Lucas’. “How was your morning?”

“Good,” Lucas says in his deep voice. “Only two appointments, but the first one took three hours. My hands hurt.”

You take the hand he isn’t holding his apple with and begin to gently massage it. You knead circular motions into his palm and fingers, discarding your apple in favor of the task at hand.

“You don’t- You don’t have to do that.” Red blossoms across Lucas’ neck. He watches his hand encased in both of yours.

“I want to,” you say. Lucas’ eyes flit across your face, and you feel openly vulnerable with your face so close to his.

Especially now, when your face is bare of everything, save SPF 80 sunscreen. You can just picture your bright red cheeks and peeling nose. Maybe your lips are chapped too, since you forgot to apply chapstick this morning.

Lucas doesn’t mention any of this, so you assume you’re just overreacting.

“Y/n?” Lucas asks. He licks his lips, quickly, but you catch the motion.

You know what’s coming. Truthfully, it’s been coming since the day you met Lucas; when the tension began. Then came the feelings, and you’ve been stuck ever since.

Maybe Lucas has been stuck too.

He ever-so-gently reaches up and tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind your ear. His hands are sticky from the apple juice, but you can’t really be bothered to care right now. Not when Lucas is treating you so softly.

Your senses zone in on Lucas only. His large brown eyes, colorful tattoos, and too-long bangs falling into his eyes. His scent, like some generic body wash that smells boyish and soft, just like Lucas.

His lips, pouty and smooth and pink.

His fingertips trace down from your hairline to your chin. When his thumb swipes across your lips, your breath catches in your throat.

Then Lucas is leaning in, too fast for you to even think about what he’s going to do. Well, obviously he’s going to kiss you, but your brain seems to be filled with nothing but warning bells and signals screaming for you to lower your adrenaline levels.

His lips fold into yours almost perfectly. Your thoughts turn over into the feeling of his fingertips trailing down your neck. His palm rests in the junction between your neck and shoulder. He pulls your closer to him and sighs against your mouth.

You move your lips, smiling when his nose bumps into yours. He tastes like green apples. You rest your hand on his knee and lean in closer. You giggle at the surprised noise that escapes his mouth.

The sound of a whistle makes the two of you jump apart.

“No kissing on the public beach!” Jaemin shouts at the two of you, no real venom in his voice.

You kiss Lucas once more and give Jaemin the bird.

He whistles again. “That’s illegal!”

“It’s not,” Lucas giggles, hiding his face in the crook of you neck.

☼

You walk into Neo Tattoos. “Where’s Lucas?”

Johnny closes his magazine and looks at you. “Well hello to you, too.”

“I brought him a lemonade and my break is almost over,” you say in passing, heading for the back.

“Lucas!”

“Y/n!” He shouts back.

You enter to see him with a customer. He’s so cute when he’s focused. You look at his gloved hands and furrowed brows. It makes you lean against the doorframe and watch him fondly for a moment.

He finally looks away from his customer. “Hey, Darlin’”

His wide smile makes the trip across the boardwalk worth it. You hand him the lemonade. “I have to get back to the shop, but I wanted to see you real quick.”

Lucas stands up and pulls off his gloves. “You’re too kind. Can I come visit you after my shift and take you out?”

“I’d like that a lot.” You kiss him and squeeze him tightly. Hopefully he can feel all of your love through your hug.

Because you really love this boy. He softens your world and makes everything feel warmer. He encases you in an eternal summer, and you don’t ever want it to end.

#sounds of the summer au #biker!lucas #lucas fluff #yukhei fluff #lucas au #yukhei au #lucas scenario #yukhei scenario #destwrites

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