#- then suddenly his celestial armor is a hot pink?)

[liliavalley]

this outfit thing is pissing me off actually

[systra]

In Dreams

notes: This is my first ever published fanfic! I wanted to write a beautiful, celestial romance story for our hero that keeps his characterization intact and also contains action. I’ve taken some liberties by expanding on Star Wars lore a bit & I hope you like what I’ve come up with. If you enjoy the story or have critique please let me know! I’m also about halfway done with Part 2 & will have it up soon. <3

pairing: The Mandalorian x oc

rating: pg-13 for now. mild violence/action & mentions of blood/injury.

word count: 2,605

  In Dreams - Part One

  Outside the cockpit window was an Elysian world. Stars glowing softly as they came back into focus after the ship had dropped from hyperspeed back into a steady pace. The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers pressed a few buttons be fore dropping into an idle position on the armrests of the Captain’s chair. His helmeted gaze came to rest on the empyrean visage he had seen countless times from the very position he sat in now. The familiar hush of space settled in and around him, the mysterious silence of the cosmos something he had always thought of as comforting. And yet, as he stared out into that celestial quiet, he felt the all too familiar feeling of....something amiss. That subtle heartbeat of discomfort, the undercurrent that gently floated beneath all his waking hours. What it was he couldn’t place. He wasn’t sure he wanted or needed to. In this moment was only the calm, the Quiet, the endless reaches of stars. 

-

 The planet was small, and heavily forested. As far as the eye could see, massive pines and oaks stretched across into the horizon. Deep into the towering trees must have been civilization of some sort, as smoke rose indicating that fires burned. The Mandalorian inhaled deeply, taking in the sylvan scent that surrounded him. The air was fresh and cool, the wind making the branches of the trees sway softly in the direction away from the clearing he’d landed in. Beckoning him to begin his search. 

Taking out the bounty puck, he hit the button and once more a hologram issued up, showing him the target once more. The image had clearly been taken from far away and was therefore not entirely clear - but one thing was for certain. It was a woman. He had read the accompanying description several times, memorizing the key physical features it had mentioned. 

With a last look at the ship, his mind turned to the precious cargo onboard. His reason for taking this job in the first place - the child. There came a sort of mental twitch to the bounty hunter’s mind, the familiar twinge of anxiety that accompanied having to leave the child alone. It didn’t last long, however - the ship was the safest place for the little one to be at the moment. 

The Mandalorian began his journey into the primeval prison, his hand not far from his blaster as he carefully made his way in the direction of civilization. 

After about an hour’s walk, he stopped and checked the mapping compass built into his bracer. He should’ve reached where those smoke trails had been arising from by now. The wind picked up a bit, pulling at his cape as though mocking him for getting himself lost. Strange. His tracking skills hadn’t failed him before—

It was at that moment that a deep growl issued forth from behind him in the trees. By the time the Mandalorian had whirled halfway around to find the growl’s origin, the air had been knocked out of his lungs as he hit the forest’s floor with a sickening thud. A massive, furred beast had charged and was attempting to claw into his flesh with hideously large talons. Saliva dripped from equally enormous fangs as the creature roared into the Mando’s helmeted face, snapping its jaws inches away as he attempted to fend the beast off. A white hot flash of pain hit the bounty hunter as the beast landed a blow to his side. He somehow managed to score a hit to the creature’s eye and as it hesitated, the Mando didn’t waste the opportunity to grasp his blaster and shoot it just below its arm. The creature roared and charged once more, knocking the bounty hunter back against a tree. Despite his helmet lessening the impact, the Mando saw stars as his head hit the tree’s unyielding trunk. His recovery was impeccable however, as the distance put between him and the monstrous animal was enough for him to land 3 more shots between its eyes. 

It hit the ground with a defeated thud and the bounty hunter slowly lowered his arm, his blaster falling out of his hand as the other came up to touch the large wound on his side. His blurred vision looked down to see a veritable river of blood flowing forth from his torso. The coppery scent filled his nostrils as his vision went black. 

 -

 At first he dreamed of fire. Explosions reflected off the shining metal of a battle droid. A memory he could escape neither in waking or in dreams. Lamentations that should never fill a child’s ears the familiar dirge he had heard in his mind so many times since it first occurred. The sickly scent of shrapnel and blood, tearing a river through the fabric of his fever dreams.     

The hellish memories faded into blurred vision as he felt a gentle hand rub a sweet smelling poultice into the wound at his side. The pain was searing, his parched throat issuing forth a groan. Swiftly the pain began to fade as the plant matter’s effects gently spread through his body, the honeyed smell filling his head as he drifted away.

This time, his dreams were sweet. The image of a white rose blooming in a glass vase. His bare hand softly dipping into a gently running stream, the water caressing his fingertips. A pink horizon at dusk on a desert planet. The sound of wind chimes softly singing in the breeze.    

       -    

      Birds twittered softly outside, coaxing the Mandalorian to wake. A clouded vision of a woman in white, sitting over him with her hands hovering above the wound in his side was just at the edge of his consciousness, slipping away swiftly as dreams were wont to do. It only took a few moments after the vision faded that he started, alarmedly looking around the hut he found himself in. With a slight groan, he sat up on the edge of the bed to survey his surroundings. The cottage he found himself in was small & somewhat primitive, but comfortable. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, creating a pleasant fragrance mixed with woodsmoke from the crackling fireplace.

“It wasn’t a dream.”

A woman’s bemused voice came from the open doorway of the cottage, bringing the bounty hunter fully into waking life as his head snapped over towards her direction. 

What met his gaze was the girl from the bounty puck. 

A petite woman in her mid 20s, with pale skin and light red hair tumbling far past her waist. She was wearing a long white tunic and carried a basket full of bright blue leaves of some kind. About her neck was a pendant bearing a cloudy, cerulean stone. The bounty hunter had no doubt in his mind that it was her. 

He watched her silently as she crossed the small cottage’s floor to set the basket on a tiny table in front of the only window. Her lips carried a soft smile at their edges, even as her blue eyes left the Mando’s helmeted visage. 

“You had quite a close call there. The claws of the Daglaks are poisonous. Had I found you but an hour later, you’d surely be dead.” 

Remembering the encounter with the animal in the forest, his hand came to touch the several blood-stained holes in the canvas shirt covering his side. The beast’s claws had managed to get him right at the spot below his shining beskar armor, one of few vulnerable areas. He was amazed to find, as he pressed his gloved fingers in the fabric’s holes, that there appeared to be no trace of his wound left. 

“How long have I been out?” His deep voice came from inside the helmet, the vocoder texturing his voice with a slightly robotic quality. 

“I would say, about 5 hours.” The redhead answered him, her lips curling ever so slightly again in that knowing smile as she came to sit in one of two chairs at the table bearing her basket of leaves. 

Five hours, and not even a scab in the place he’d been deeply slashed by the beast. How...?

“I’m an Anreth. A healer.” Came her voice, in answer to what she must have (correctly)assumed him to be wondering. She had begun to gently tear at the leaves in the basket. “I’m Systra. Systra Phen.” Suddenly she looked up at him with a smile, her blue eyes glimmering with something like anticipation, like the idle flames of a campfire dancing. “Are you a bounty hunter?”

“Yes.” He replied evenly, picking up his blaster from the small bedside table where she had placed it, as well as his jet pack, while he was unconscious. Holstering it, he stood and stared at her from beneath his helmet. He felt no need to lie to her about his occupation, despite the fact that she was his current target.

Her sparkling gaze returned to the leaves as she poured them from the basket into a bowl. The Mando noticed a white bandage wrapped around one of her wrists. “That sounds very exciting. Have you ever been to Telris? It’s small, on the Outer Rim. It’s where I’m from.” The healer stood, picking up her emptied basket and a worn lavender cloak draped over the back of her chair. The Mandalorian watched her without answering her previous question, taking in the situation and the woman who had, apparently, rescued him from a venomous end. 

“Not a man of many words are you?” Systra looked at him with a brow quirked. She was pretty, something that hadn’t been readily apparent from the distorted bounty puck’s hologram. 

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here for the remainder of the day, to rest if you like. I’m pretty sure you hit your head. I don’t think it’s serious but I didn’t actually get a look at it.” She gestured in the direction of his helmet. “I...sensed you wouldn’t want me to take that off.”

“Thank you...for your help.” 

Nodding softly at him, that slight curl of her lips remained as she fastened the cloak about her. “There’s food in the cupboard. I’m going to pick some more Pelnit flowers down by the stream, so you’ll have some privacy.” Her eyes briefly roved down to his blaster and then back up to where his gaze would be underneath his helm, quickly taking in his form before exiting the cabin.

Left with only the soft crackle of the fireplace and the muffled sound of wind chimes outside(which he noted as also not being just part of his feverish dreams), he moved towards the window. He watched Systra as she walked towards the stream not far from the hut, and knelt down to pick the cobalt flowers beside it.

Something felt deeply.... peculiar about the whole situation. He was running out of time to analyze it, however, as the child had already been left alone at the ship for too long. The child.... 

His mind flashed back to when he had seen the little one use his...unique abilities to heal a potentially fatal injury. The dream-like vision of Systra with her hands hovering just above his poisonous wounds came rushing back. Did she possess the same ability to heal somewhat miraculously as the child did? If so, she may have other hidden “talents” that could complicate turning her in to the client. The Mandalorian felt a twinge of guilt - after all the woman had saved his life. But he barely had enough credits left for food for both him and the child, much less fuel and other necessities while on his search for the Child’s people. When it came down to it, if he had to choose between Systra and the child’s needs - he must choose the latter. 

 -

 The Mandalorian opened the cottage door as quietly as possible, cautiously moving towards the healer’s form seated on the ground. Her back was to him as she picked the blue flowers at the edge of the stream, gently placing them in her basket. Moving slowly towards her without a sound, his hand came to rest lightly on the hilt of his blaster. 

As he came within just a few feet of her, however, something made him stop and instead speak to her in a calm voice. “How did my wounds heal so quickly?”

“I think you already know.” She answered, without even looking back at him as she gathered a bouquet into her hands. 

She stood and faced him without looking up, her arms full of the blue flowers. Her eyes were closed as she gently inhaled the scent of the blooms in her arms, before finally looking up at him steadily. “Pelnit flowers help to stop infection, and they bring pleasant dreams.” At her words, the Mandalorian was reminded of the tender images he had seen while unconscious in the cottage. 

Systra broke his gaze to glance down at his hand still resting on his blaster, then back up to his eyeline with a hint of sarcasm in her eyes and in her voice. “So it’s like that huh?”

“It— no.” He answered, the dreamy visions snuffed out like a candle in his mind. “Just a reflex.” He removed his hand entirely from the blaster before addressing her again. The bounty hunter’s metal-encased head glanced about, taking in the color of the sky - it was nearly dusk. “I need to return to my ship. But, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. May I return in the morning?”

Still clutching the bundle of flowers, a soft smile came across Systra’s pale features as she stared up at him. “Of course.” Glancing down at the Pelnit flowers, she pulled a few away from the others and held out the small bundle to the bounty hunter. “Here. Should you ever have need of it.”

 -

 Despite using the jet pack to help him locate his ship, it was night by the time the Mandalorian reached the Razor Crest, a blanket of stars covering the sky seen above the tree tops. The ship appeared undisturbed for all intents and purposes, but the bounty hunter rushed inside nonetheless. 

He immediately went to the cockpit and looked inside the metal orb hovering silently near the captain’s chair. The small green child lay inside, fast asleep - his large, innocent eyes opening at the sound of footsteps. The bounty hunter reached in and gently picked up the toddler, holding him against his chest as he grabbed the small container of food near the makeshift cradle. Sitting in the captain’s chair, he fed the little one from the container, knowing he must have been starving after going most of the day without food. 

“Well, I found the target.” He spoke out loud to the child as he fed him, despite never actually knowing if the little one could understand his words. “There’s been some new, developments in the plan.”  The child looked up at him with large, inquisitive eyes as he chewed softly. “I think she may be....like you.” 

Once the little one was sufficiently fed, the Mandalorian leaned back in the Captain’s chair with the child resting in the crook of his arm. Staring out the window into the lucent night sky, his thoughts were a jumbled mess. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something.... fated was at play here. If the healer possessed similar powers as the Child, she may know something about the baby’s people - or other information pertinent to his quest. One thing was for certain, however: he couldn’t turn Systra in. Not yet. 

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 21 - Eisodos

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2105

Summary: Written erotica content warning! The reader comforts Cas who is brooding after killing his AU alter ego. They finally get some much needed and uninterrupted alone time at the resistance encampment.

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If Cas hears you coming, heels tramping the graveled-earth of Bobby Singer’s salvage yard as you traverse a path through bits and bobs of decaying metal, shattered glass, and the overgrown vegetation arising to swallow the remains of humanity’s vehicular ingenuity whole, the brooding stillness of his figure sat upon the rust-eaten frame of a vintage VW bug doesn’t betray acknowledgement of your approach. Sam said you’d probably find the angel out here, and here he is, eschewing social interaction in favor of isolation; or rather, seraphim segregation. Not that you blame him – half the people at the encampment think the only good angel is a dead angel, and the other half don’t trust him as far as they can throw him, which given the muscular build of his vessel and angelically weighted advantage, isn’t very far at all. The thing about people is, they tend to talk; and angels, well they can’t help but hear hushed murmurs in deafening detail.

From the vantage point of a dozen or so yards away where you slow to circumnavigate what looks like a hunk of an armored tank, Cas appears engaged in rapt observation of the vine-swathed backend of a white delivery van parked opposite shedding flecks of paint like snow on the surrounding soil; moving nearer in night’s shroud of dark, borders of blackness illumined faintly by flame flickering from barrels for warmth for those patrolling the perimeter, you see the intensity of his concentration bends not outward, but inward – inwardly sulking, you surmise.

“Hey, Cas.” Your breath fogs in greeting.

“Y/N.” The stern set of his jaw softens to form a slender smile around the utterance of your name; the respite sparked by your presence spreads to pink his pale expression and relax the stiffness of his shoulders into a rounded slump. His regard reels sidelong to settle on you; the grey already veiling his typically lustrous blues dims his gaze further in squinting distress at the sight of the five-fingered bruised imprint left by his doppelgänger deeply purpling your throat and imbuing your voice with a hoarse timbre.

Sensing his surge of remorse over the mark he didn’t create, you flip up the flimsy denim of your jacket collar to conceal it. Leaning against the hood beside him, palms flattening over the peeling paint to support your slouching frame, you avoid the imploring heat of his look. He offered earlier to heal the superficial, admittedly sore, reminder of the other Castiel; you refused, counseling him to save his grace for more important matters – after all, you aren’t home safe … yet.

In the distance, the stalled engine of the school bus Dean and Bobby are attempting to resuscitate explosively sputters and dies. Dean bellows a bitter note, quickly outdone by Bobby’s gruff rejoinder. The acrid odor of burnt oil wefts through the atmosphere, singeing the nostrils. They still have a couple of hours to get the boxy behemoth running. Faith – buoyancy of wellbeing unfamiliar to you from long disuse – that everything will be fine cushions any anxiety you might have about getting out of here; you attribute the mind quieting comfort mostly to the seraph who saved you in more than just the literal sense.

Cas’ continual steady stare, the silence encumbered with his desire to mend despite your protest, and the brisk bite of pre-dawn air coalesce as a spine-tingling shiver to prickle the tiny hairs at your nape. You want to return the favor of faith, save him too, even if it’s merely from himself. “Sam said you were out here avoiding everyone,” you remark to break the ice.

“Not everyone,” he corrects. Without looking, he shifts his hand, seeking and covering your own where it rests on the domed hood next to his leg.

At the tender touch, natural and totally unhesitating on his part, he earns a half-grin tossed backward in his direction gratifying enough to mollify his fretting, for the moment, over your minor wound.

“How’s it going?” you ask, wriggling your hand to fit and flex your fingers snugly between his.

“It’s quiet,” he states, wrongly inferring you’re asking about his self-assigned post as sentinel when you really want to know how he’s doing. “No sign of angels out there. Well, except Gabriel and Lucifer and Ja-”

“I meant” –you pivot, slotting your hips between his splayed knees. Reaching up to tuck a wayward curl overlying his temple neatly back into the hairline, two more dark-brown locks rebel to take its place– “how are you? What you did back there – I can’t imagine what that feels like, smiting yourself.”

Conflict contorts his countenance. Somberly glazed eyes tumble downward to the tangle of your hands. He pulls the bundle of digits into his lap where a thumb extricates itself from entwinement to swipe circles over your knuckles as he stalls to answer.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you stammer, suddenly self-conscious about the accuracy of your supposition; laying a palm to his cheek, meekly smiling, you offer him an easy out of the awkward inquiry. He said it before – killing Castiel cleanly saved him from a worse fate for sparing you. Maybe it is that simple – a soldier’s mercy with no lingering regret. Maybe you misread the moping.

“No, it’s okay. You’re not prying.” His head shakes, unshaven chin scratching at your skin. “It’s just-,” he sighs, searching for the right words to describe the emotion swelling in his heart. Lifting your held hand to his lips, he presses a light kiss to the delicate digits. “It’s different to have someone care enough to ask me how I’m feeling. You asking, it’s … nice.”

The damp gathering on his lashes attests to how meaningful the cognizance of being the one cared for is to him. Not that he believes the Winchesters don’t care about him, but so long as the brothers have each other, neither of them is falling on their sword in sacrifice for the seraph self-sworn to stoically watch over them. Besides, Sam and Dean’s modus operandi relies on masking emotions and telling themselves and each other heavily tailored truths about how to feel as a sort of shield for coping with the bad day after day.

Killing Castiel was a mercy, for the reason he told you – the angel would have faced Naomi’s wrath, been forced to torture soul after soul until the day humanity ceased to exist, and then be left to endure unending eternity ostracized from his kin as an outsider, belonging nowhere and to no one, burdened by everything he’d done and lost. What he hid was the fact killing him was a mercy for Cas, too; a profound relief, because that version of himself – heart all but carved out of its celestial core with nothing except the fragile link Castiel witnessed and felt drawn to in your memory left to mitigate the capacity for cruelty – absolutely terrified him. His mouth motions to speak, to share with you the unabridged truth – no sound escapes except a smothered sob.

“C’mere.” Jerking at the lapels of his coat, encouraging him to slide to his feet and stand, you fold him to your chest.

The intimacy is the solace he needs. He nuzzles the sensitive stretch below your ear; scenting the dried sweat of day salting your skin, the sweetly exotic essence of you, a grateful growl of contentment hums in his throat for your existence. Winding his arms firmly behind your back, a climbing caress follows up the ridge of your spine to clutch you tighter. Anchored fully in the security of fondness found in your embrace, he tries once again to summon the words – they emerge, a secreted whisper upon your ear.

“Seeing what he was capable of, knowing his thoughts, so similar to mine – to look into that mirror and perceive what I would have become if not for Sam and Dean’s friendship, if I’d never learned what it feels like to … to-” he falters, confidence wavering in affront to the significance of what he’s about to confess and what it will change between you. Surely after everything you’ve been through together, you know; and yet doubt forever dogs his conviction, viciously barks qualms, and nips at his heels for each step he dares take in pursuit of personal fulfillment.

Kneading the nervous knots coiling at his shoulders, you incline backward to examine his features in earnest. “To what, Cas?”

The candor contained in your countenance, the collected pinpricks of light sparkling as a universe in the swirling color of your irises and burgeoning black of pupils, the sanctuary he perceives therein, a desire to lose himself in you unlike anything he has ever experienced before, overcomes all doubt. “To” –fingers braced at your nape, tips splaying to tenderly cradle your head, he leans in to impart the answer directly upon your lips– “love.”

Breathing in the single syllable sentiment, you surrender to the pliant mold of his mouth and insistent exploration of tongue. The hot honeyed taste of him flows thickly over teeth, tongue, and down your throat where arousal roots and blossoms; fronds of passionate fire unfurl from your heart, torrid tendrils traverse flesh and limb. Body pleasantly ablaze, overwhelmed outside-in by the seraph, your mind dizzies itself in a swoon.

Releasing you from the all-encompassing kiss, he bolsters your swaying body and rests his forehead to yours while you gasp to regain breath.

You blink several times to compel your blurred vision to refocus on his besotted blues. “L-love? Are you saying-?”

He nods, nosing your cheek and smiling against your questioningly parted lips before you can finish the question.

“Mmm-me too,” you mumble into the kiss, chirruping in surprise when he swiftly scoops you by the waist to spin you round, pinning your body between his quickening vessel and the hood. The bumper below you squeaks, breaks free, and bounces into the dirt in inanimate comment to his vigor.

Lavishing kisses along your jaw, his lips latch to your neck where it lolls to expose the unsullied side for him to savor. Easing you onto your back, his fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, delightfully ticklish in their calloused fumbling and tearing buttons from flannel in impatience. His thumb tarries at the strap and padded barrier of your bra; tracing the laced edging to the center of your torso to unlatch the hook, he moves his ministrations – molten kisses melting downward – to the newly bared breasts. Nipples pertly bud in the humid breeze of his breath, gentle brush of fingertips, and rough twirl of his tongue.

Teasing your fingers through his hair, legs wrapping his hips to draw him nearer in a bid for friction, a needful moan of his name mingles misty into the cool of night.

He stops to peer up at you, blue eyes blown to oblivion when they meet your fevered gaze.

“Cas,” you say his name again, giving a tug at a fistful of his hair. “Angel, need you … now.” You need him before the interruption of a rainstorm, a Winchester, a witch, a road trip, or a rift can interfere. Maybe you have hours, maybe only minutes, however much time you have before the next intrusion upon your intimacy, you don’t intend to squander it wondering or waiting. Groping a hand between your bodies, you grasp and yank at his belt buckle just in case what you need from him isn’t clear.

“Now,” he echoes your demand aloud in a husked rasp – understanding eradicates all but the slimmest rim of sapphire sparkle from his eyes. Understanding hastily shoves pants and boxers down around his muscular thighs as you wriggle out of your jeans and pull him back to your body using his tie for leverage.

“Now,” you whisper the word across his lips, gazes locked as he reaches down to stroke the thick curve of his cock, positioning and sinking into your slick.

Bliss flutters your lashes. Balance bending backward, you brace your elbows on the hood.

Broad hands cup your bare buttocks to guide you closer, your sultry skin sticky as it slides across the metal hood until he buries himself fully into your silken heat and drops his chin to your clavicle with a low worshipful growl. Tilting your pelvis to adjust to the divine burn of deep penetration, you tighten your walls in a pulse of encouragement. His hips piston and slam forward – the now no longer needs saying.

Half-dressed, urgently coupling beneath a starless apocalyptically hued sky, survivors, human and angel from different worlds, it’s certainly not the love you imagined – it’s so much better.

Next: Ch. 22 - The Devil Made Me Do It

[heartfiliadragneel]

Lavender (Natsu x OC): Chapter Zero

Hello everyone! I started a Fanfiction of Natsu and my original character who you will meet forward. I wanted to do something diffrent and suddenly inspiration came to me. Please, give it a shot, I appreciate the feedback (if its said in a constructive way, I wont expand myself anymore, so just enjoy!

This story is set after the Eclipse Arc so: Beware, spoilers ahead.

Natsu and Happy were getting out of the house ready for another day in their beloved guild; the sun was up, and both were ready for more adventure. They stopped by Lucy’s house, as expected. Just as they entered, the blonde was taking her keys, almost leaving her home.

-          How many times must I tell you not to enter by the window?! – said the celestial mage to her best friends, red in anger.

-          Who cares! I’m so hungry, and Happy too, right? – spoke the pink-haired in response.

-          Yes! Yes! I’m ready for some fish – the little cat flies around the room, Lucy just sighed.

-          You could eat something in the guild, Erza told us to be there early, remember? Do you want to make her wait? – a little smile made its way to her face, her fingers over her lips.

-          No – said the pair at unison, already going out to the streets again, Lucy laughed and followed, she went for the door instead.

And so, the trio went to Fairy Tail, throwing some theories on what was the redhead going to tell them. The day was shining hard, summer was just beginning, and the temperature was raising by days.  Natsu enjoyed this season, or anything that have to do with hotness for that matter. Lucy, on the other hand, was overwhelmed at night because not even sleeping naked was enough to get comfortable.

Opening the doors of the guild nothing was unusual. Laughter and screams were heard left and right, and it was so full of live, Lucy was convinced everybody could hear them on the other side of the town. Natsu smiled and told everyone he was back; Gray picked up in a matter of seconds and was in front on the dragon slayer in a blink.

-          Oh hey, I thought you overslept, again – he said in a defying tone.

-          Me? Maybe you were talking about your lazy ass – answered Natsu smirking.

-          Already at it? – a menacing voice in the distance talked, it was a powerful mage in an armor. Just as her words left her mouth both mages hug each other looking at her.

-          We’re just being good friends! – started the pink-haired.

-          You see, Erza? The bests ones – finished the ice mage.

-          Oh, hi, Erza! Good to see you, scary as always – greeted Lucy.

-          Hello, Lucy, good to see you too – answered, not caring about what the blonde said – so now that we are all here, what if  I told you what I spoke with the Master?

They all sat at a table, Natsu with a sandwich in front of him and Happy with a fish already in his mouth.

-          So, he told me about this mission at Croferin.

-          He told you? – interfered Gray

-          Yes, is kind of a secret mission – she explained

-          Oi! Ninja mission I hear? –Natsu said with excitement – I’m all fired up!

-          Aye! – supported the blue cat; a violet aura surrounded Erza, who had a frown on her face.

-          Guys, could you let Erza explain first? – stated Lucy with a worried smile.

-          Thank you. There’s this festival at the city, the Holy Stone Festival, it is next week, and we have to protect the event, make sure everything goes fine – the redhead explained to the team.

-          We just must keep an eye on some party? – argue Natsu with a hint of disappointment – what a boring mission, why all the secretiveness then?

-          Master told me that the leader of Croferin is an old friend, the village is some kind of an unknown place for the whole country. It is inside a big forest so the people who knows about this city is a few – answered Erza – He’s doing a favor to his friend, and he trust us to be discrete.

-          I see, when are we going? – said Gray

-          Wendy is coming today from another mission, and Makarov wanted her also to come so… in two days we are taking the train – thought the mage.

-          …Train? – Natsu was already feeling the dizziness in his gut.

-          The place is really far away so there´s no other choice

-          Well Natsu, you could ask Wendy for help with that – expressed Lucy, who was already excited with being assigned with an especial mission.

-          Wendy said he should stop using Troia for some time, so he doesn’t get used to it – answered Happy instead of the dragon slayer.

The conversation ended there, with nothing more to say, everybody continued their day, getting ready for the journey ahead. Far away from there, in the village of Croferin, a girl with green eyes was entering a forest dark as the night; but it wasn’t threatening, it was welcoming her, as usual.

No one was aware of the road that was ahead of them. In the moment the team will take the train, the fate of Fairy Tail will change. Not only that, but in a matter of days, two extremes of a single thread will meet, and nobody will be able to cut the most resilient cotton the universe had observed. Onix sees green and the world stops moving for a second.