#Rucksack buying guide

[bathroomrefurbishment]

Rucksack Buying Guide: How to Choose the Right Backpack for Your Needs

Navigate the array of rucksack options with confidence using this buying guide. Explore features like capacity, compartments, materials, and fit to find the ideal backpack for your hiking, travel, or outdoor adventures. Make informed choices and pick a rucksack that suits your requirements. Visit: https://theexpertcamper.co.uk/blog/advice/rucksack-buying-guide-how-to-choose-the-right-backpack-for-your-needs/

[cheriladycl01]

My home country - Pierre Gasly x IcelandicOlympicIceHockey! Reader

Plot: Your boyfriend Pierre watches on as you bring home Gold for team Iceland before you show him around the waterfalls and geysers your country is known for!

A/N: Having been to Iceland, this one was really fun to write as I've done all the things mentioned!

Credits to wdcmaxy for the GIF

You’d just won gold and we’re on a complete high, your boyfriend being there to celebrate you and your teams win. It was a thrilling feeling having the Gold Medal placed around your neck and hugging all of your team mates who'd been a part of the journey.

You had all worked insanely hard and you'd cried once you realized you won.

The celebrations that night were crazy, you and Pierre spent the whole night in the club with all your friends and some of your family. There were also randoms there who were congratulating you and buying you drinks the whole night - much to Pierre's annoyance as they were mostly men.

But once they offered him a drink too after recognizing him, he didn't feel as peeved.

They day after and you both woke up with the worst hangover imaginable. You laid in bed in the fancy 5 star hotel you were set up in, both complaining about the headache you both had before you sulked down the stairs for the breakfast buffet.

You guys filled yourself on all the greasiest food in attempt to get rid of the hangover.

"Fuck Elskan. I feel awful" you say in Icelandic and Pierre looks at you as if you've grown two heads, not understanding anything but the pet name you use often for him.

"Babe, English or French please... I'm dying here!" he groans.

"Sorry, i revert back when I'm tired!" you smile before taking his hand.

"We have a busy day today!" you smile, excited for the plan you guys have.

"Nooooooo, please I just need a day in bed!" he complains looking over at you.

"You don't want to see my country?" you say with a sad voice, knowing he did as he'd been asking for ages for you to take him across Iceland and show him all the things you did growing up.

"I do!" he whines looking over at you.

"I just - cant we do that tomorrow?" he asks looking over you his sleepy eyes telling you he was struggling a little bit more than he was letting on.

"The fresh air will do you good, come on lets go get ready! It's cold so we need to wrap up warm" you advise grabbing his hand and dragging him out the restaurant.

You both change into warm clothes and waterproof having a little rucksack with you each. You guys had a busy day where you'd be hiking up a glacier and seeing some of the best waterfalls Iceland had to offer before going to swim in the geothermal spa called the Blue Lagoon to round up your day.

"The guys said we might even get to see the northern lights tonight!" you grin excitedly.

"Really?" Pierre asks knowing you'd seen them multiple times in your lifetime but it was something you still got pretty excited about.

You guys were on the tour bus and went straight to the glaciers, you had grippy shoes on, knowing what Iceland was like in the winter but Pierre didn't exactly think that through and when you looked back to where he was, really behind the rest of the group he looked like Bambi.

You couldn't help but laugh at him.

"Pierre, come on here!" you say handing him the walking stick you'd been using. He thanked you before you helped him up, holding one of his hands to try and keep him stable.

You get to the top and Pierre has a red face and watering eyes from the wind at the top unlike you wearing googles and a bandana to cover your mouth and neck to keep the warmth in.

"Why didn't you prepare me better!" he groans looking around at everyone else.

"I told you what to bring!" you giggle. You then start to make the decent down the glacier seeing the top of the gushing waterfall.

"I didn't expect it to be so loud!" Pierre shouts over the really loud water. All you could do was laugh at him before the tour guide started to talk to you in Icelandic about what was coming up next on the tour. Pierre awkwardly waited off to one side not knowing what to do.

"You are really going to enjoy the next bit!" you smile taking his hand and pull him into a searing kiss. His lips were a little chapped from the cold but you didn't mind.

You guys made the drive to the blue lagoon. You split in the changing rooms and Pierre was shocked to be greeted by multiple naked men. It was normal for you and when you met him at the entrance into the water he looked almost traumatised.

"Sorry I should have warned you about what you would have walked into!" you giggle before he shakes his trying to get rid of the images burned into his brain.

You both swim around, going to grab the face scrub at the bar to plaster over you face. You loved coming to the geothermal spa. The sensation of dipping right under the water, feeling the heat warm up your skin before standing up and having the wind whip around your wet skin was a sensation like no other.

"This is very romantic" Pierre smiles, holding you as you both float around clinging to each other.

"Mmmmm I'm glad we've done this. I've been missing home far to much!" you sigh. You'd made the decision to move with Pierre, as it made sense considering he was closer to Alpine and he was travelling for most of the year.

"I'm just scared for tomorrow!" he sighs, knowing it was a day he'd been expecting for a while but it didn't feel real.

"I've told you so many times, my parents will love you. We should have seen them earlier!" you grin, pulling him in for a kiss as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"God I love you!" he exclaims twirling you round in the water.

y/user

Liked by pierregasly and charlesleclerc

y/user: Just brought home gold for my beautiful country! Iceland 🇮🇸 you are beautiful and I loved showing my boyfriend round!

Tagged One Person

View all comments 139

pierregasly: I loved spending time with you and congrats on your win ma cherie 🍒

-> y/user: I love you very much

->pierregasly: I love you too 🫶🏼❤️

alpinef1team: Congrats on the win Y/N!

Instagram Story Caption

Showing kærastinn minn around 🇮🇸

Taglist:

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[forest-falcon]

Whumpy/Angsty WIP

Trigger warning for blood, angst, shock, whump.

OCs: Tamara Fielding, Jonesy and Mac who work with Captain Cass McCready as firefighters.

💚♥️🚒👨‍🚒👩‍🚒🧑‍🚒

As far as Virgil could tell, only two figures had stood in the direct path of the falling glass; Alan, and the firefighter who had pushed him to safety.

Alan was clearly unharmed; already scrambling to his feet, ready to assess the situation. He may be the youngest Tracy, but he was International Rescue material through-and-through.

The firefighter who had dived to save Alan, however, was still curled in the same position on the floor. Her fire jacket, and the settling dust, making it nearly-impossible to tell whether Alan's Good Samaritan was even breathing.

Please be alive, please be alive…

Maybe, by some sheer miracle, she had dodged the shards unscathed?

Maybe, she was simply lying and waiting for the immediate danger to pass?

Another second, and her ragged breathing became apparent.

Shit.

At least she was alive. He could work with alive.

"TAM!" Jonesy dashed towards his prone friend.

"Wait!" Virgil made a quick scan of his immediate surroundings.

Of course, the fire helmets were properly stored, and not immediately reachable in the decimated foyer. He'd have to improvise.

There was an upturned coffee table. That could work.

"Okay, with me" he gestured, using the table for cover from further debris.

Alan had followed suit, sheltering under the canopy of a firefighter's jacket.

Admittedly, the risk of further falling glass was relatively low - a large portion of the roof above them was now sky, but the wind outside had picked up, toppling the odd piece of loose rubble with a flurry of silt.

Virgil knelt whilst simultaneously removing his plaid shirt.

The casualty's fingers were hovering, quivering above a ragged piece of glass protruding from her abdomen.

"Tam, was it?"

"T-Tam-mmm-m," she nodded as she shivered.

"Short for Tamara." Jonesy offered.

"Tam, I'm Virgil. I'm going to need you to lie nice and still for me."

"O-k-kay…”

The firefighter gave a small laugh as a few rogue tears ran from the corners of her eyes.

“I'm o-kay. M'okay. M’kay. This is ..fineee!" Tam grinned against the tears, as though merely rejecting the situation would suffice

Virgil bunched his shirt and gently guided the woman's quivering fingers away from the wound.

What he'd give for his baldric right now.

"Tam, I know it's hard, but I'd like you to focus on your breathing for me...nice n' steady. Try to control the shivering if you can. We want this wound nice n' still."

"D... don't know...w-why... I'm...sh-shivering so m-much. Doesn't hurt that much...if-f-f I s-stay s-still."

Jonesy was staring at him. A silent conversation passing between the first responders.

Confident the risk of further glass falling was negligible; Jonesy set the desk down to shield Tam's eyes from dust. Sliding himself under the table, he reached for his friend.

"Hold my hands."

"M-M'okay" Tam's protest was feeble, and somewhat pointless, given that she conceded with a simple look.

"I'm sorry Tam, but this will likely hurt." Virgil apologised as he covered the wound (barring the glass) with his shirt.

"Alan, I need you to keep the pressure on this for me, while I set up an IV."

Fielding's sharp wail flooded the room, before fading to a choked whimper as the pain swallowed her voice.

"Ambulance should be with us in five." Mac called.

Five minutes? She'd bleed out in that time.

"Great, thanks," he mustered with as much positivity as his voice could muster.

Virgil rummaged through the medical rucksack for supplies. There must be something...anything, that could buy them some time. First thing’s first; IV.

He turned back to Alan, who was staring at the darkening shirt, his arms slack.

"Like this." Virgil manually guided Alan's hands back down to put pressure back on the wound. His brother's hands were surprisingly cold and clammy.

He's going into shock.

Virgil willed the thought away. Alan was a professional, he'd seen numerous rescues - some arguably worse than this. And right now, he could use all the help he could get.

Professionals aren't immune to trauma, though. She saved his life, possibly at the expense of her own. You need to watch him.

As soon as Virgil removed his hands from Alan's, the necessary pressure was gone again. Jonesy was quick to fill in for Alan, though his face wore a similar shade of grey.

Alan slowly stood, staring at the blood still slick on his palms. He continued to stare as he silently stumbled away in no particular direction.

Virgil tapped at his watch and dialed his emergency code.

Within moments, John's voice washed over him like a tonic.

"Virgil, you've activated your emergency beacon."

"Multi-casualty situation. Building’s unstable. Alan's in shock. Require urgent assistance."

"FAB, we're on our way."

"Your status, Thunderbird Two?"

"Uninjured."

"S-s-lot of-blood. M' S-scared." Tam continued to shiver.

"Hey, hey Tam. Look at me. Look at me."

Wide eyes fixed on his.

"Do you trust me?"

Tam gave a hesitant half-nod.

"You just saved my youngest brother. Do you think there's even a chance I'd let anything happen to you?"

The prone firefighter managed a weak smile.

"I mean, a feat like that's gotta be worth...oooh...at least two drinks at a London bar."

"Two whole drinks, huh?" Her voice was breathy.

"Have you seen London prices? Last time Scottie and myself were here, they charged him £35 for a small measure of whisky! £35! Even I needed a drink after that."

Tam's smile grew a fraction before her eyes suddenly rolled back, and her head lolled to the side.

"Tam? Tam?”

[beardedmrbean]

1. 'Long-awaited': New tramline will connect Rogier with northern Brussels

The Brussels-Capital Region is laying down the tracks for a new tramway line between Place Rogier and the military hospital in Neder-Over-Heembeek, connecting several densely populated neighbourhoods to the city centre. Read more.

2. Cuts to registration duties: Brussels lowers cost of buying a house

The Parliament of the Brussels-Capital Region has approved the draft ordinance modifying the regional system of registration duties, making purchasing a property cheaper if it will serve as the buyer's primary residence. Read more.

3. Ukraine anticipates nuclear attack, says former Polish Foreign Minister

Former Polish Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski claims to have been told by a "senior Ukrainian defence official" that he believes Russia will launch a nuclear attack on Ukraine. Read more.

4. World's best vegetarian restaurants: Two Belgian establishments in top 10

We're Smart – a Belgian organisation that highlights more ecological ways of shopping and eating out – has released this year's Green Guide, which names the best vegetarian restaurants in the world. The top ten features two Belgian eateries. Read more.

5. Votes from Americans abroad can still make difference in 'historic' US midterms

While the voting stations for the United States midterm elections closed on Tuesday night and the "red wave" that the Republicans predicted never materliased, many close races in numerous states remain uncertain as all votes – including those from abroad – are still being counted. Read more.

6. Children's book for displaced Ukrainians unveiled in Brussels

Fleeing the horrors of war, many Ukrainian children arrive in Europe with just their Rucksack, filled with memories of their former home. Read more.

7. Hidden Belgium: The emerging Brussels craft beer district

Craft breweries are opening up all over Brussels, but the biggest concentration is in the Tour et Taxis neighbourhood. This area of vanished railway lines and abandoned warehouses is now home to three small breweries. Read more.

[tomyo]

Story of seasons friends of Mineral town: The Powertrip

I would like you to come back to a simpler time with me, dear reader. Do you remember Kanye's Power? Do you remember the mlp version? Around that time, I shared on this exact blog some cringey art reveling in exploiting the ruby spice farming trick to for the first time properly fun my wonderful life farm. Now and again, a bokumono game gives its players some way to break the game, but the friends of mineral town took it to a new level.

Okay, let's rewind. Amidst playing ANB, I became frazzled from the sheer amount of mechanics I had to keep track of. I have moved Yuri into town, but now I was struggling to complete restoration project 3. At some point, I messed up a day and took a step back. Now I have not kept track of switch games on my backlog, but this past winter, I was gifted fomt but had not touched it. Fomt was my first HM game and something I knew intimately since it was so straightforward. I decided to take a quick shot at it. Oh, how novel it was at the start.

Within one night's worth of work, I had basically become the kingpin of quaint Mineral Town.

I did not intend it, in fact I barely read anything major. Just some basic costs and a crop guide. However, during the first horse race, I was saving money for a new rucksack but now was unable to buy it. I take a look at the medal information and figure I'd try my luck at getting the power berry seeing as save scumming was much less tedious now. However instead, I ended up with a good number of broaches. That was when I made my first 50k.

Now you can ship the broaches just fine but I had learned of selling to Huang and figured I should befriend him for next time. Pretty much a day later I ended up with van's favorite (VF from here out) to which I believe is a new addition that you can sell to Huang for ~50k each.

Apparently, you get this every time your transaction count lands on a 10 in its count. Heavily exploitable, but you don't even need to try. So far I have received 3 without even trying and it's been more than enough money to basically complete the game.

By mid summer I had enough to pay for one of every animal, upgrade the house fully and furnish it fully, upgrade all weapons to max, and upgrade the barn and coop one level up AND buy the materials for that rather than slowly accrue it.

The thing is, I also had completed most of this by late spring. All the animals I needed and plenty of seeds, it was time to call upon the sprites. As one should know, sprites love flour, the easiest bribery ever. Had all seven won over in time to plant 90, yes 90, pineapples. And even more plants with that, about 10 of everything I could have at the moment. The money every couple of days was ludicrous. I was making thousands without some cheat. I was even smart enough to not hire all of them at once so there was always coverage. It was basically great assistance while I built up my skill with the watering can. Sadly not mythril yet but gold works fine.

So I'm living large, what now?

Well child me was not as good at patience with this game and would do dumb shit like make myself pass out and only talk with Karen. I guess it's time to befriend the town.

Now this time as I had remarked previously, I intended to marry Elli. Though as a divergence back up, I also confessed to the harvest goddess my interest and was giving some stuff to karen too. Oh, but there is romancable gift options? Darn, and the new guy has a boyfriend gift for you too. Oh wait, the game ENCOURAGES YOU to date all the singles. Yes. Bokumono outprogressed stardew valley in the same game that it first let you date same sex (not as a conditional feature). I mean, how can I say no to that? Why shouldn't I date the whole town before settling down? I WANT FREE HOUSE DECOR DAMMIT.

And boy have I achieved that. Guess what. Most singles have a really simple to get thing in their likes category. Most people in fact like store bought flour too as I've learned.

So now I am in early Fall, collecting various foliage and woeing some people to let me into their rooms and give me recipes. I am mostly waiting around to repeat my sudden wealth gain at the fall races but now with tens of thousands instead of the previous 3k I had at the time. It would take roughly 5000 broaches to buy that cabin from Gotz, although that doesn't factor material or if they'll let me keep that many broaches. Moreover I'm holding out for the free beach house at 150 gifts to which should come in fall of next year if I am pious.

But what's most on my mind is buying my first dog and learning cooking so I can spend the winter lake mining for kappa jewels, some of each gem, and the power berry. If I get the cursed tools as well is up in the air since I still need to upgrade 5 of 6 tools to mythril which takes quite a lot of time especially since not every one is full exp yet. Likely I will try to upgrade the hoe and hammer before winter, the watering can at the start of it, and get the axe and pole done in time to trek the depths one last time.

Sadly what has truly stopped the glory of this progression is simply my real time availability to play it. I started at the end of my free time week and have been busy since. Maybe one day i'll finally be able to gain those mythical houses that were so unattainable in the og.

[gigglesunbeamd9047]

Fairy Kei Butterfly Wings Rucksack

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[inexorcble]

open to all ; it's a lil bit of a royalty/fantasy/fun plot?

Running away wasn’t the best choice, but Miray felt like she had no other options. She was trapped and leaving in the dead of night seemed to be the only method of escape that would buy her enough time to get on a train and get somewhere else. Anywhere else. Of course, after half an hour of travel in the dark with only the sliver of moonlight as a guide, she was lost. She had chosen to travel light with only a rucksack containing a bit of water, food, and a change of clothes. At least if she was killed by wolves or marauders then she would die a free woman.

As if the thought just summoned it into existence, Miray heard rustling to the left of her. "Hello? Is anyone there?" Perhaps the wolf would grant her a quick death.

[a-tale-of-2-sloths]

Day 12 - Manuel Antonio National Park

After finally cracking the bus timetable so we can plan our return journey from the treehouse, we packed up our gear and headed to Manuel Antonio National Park. The rules aren’t slightly contradictory and open to interpretation in terms of what you’re allowed to take in re. Food and drink. I think they try to limit what you take so the monkeys and other wildlife don’t get fat on left over crisps, or swallow all the disposable plastics. So we wolfed down some breakfast bars and yogurt en route and hid the crisps at the back of the rucksack. Don’t judge us, we’ve gotta eat and we’re responsible! The bus driver gave us the call to say which stop we needed to get off at and it wasn’t immediately clear as to which direction we should be going in, but G asked a local taxi driver who sent us on our way. We eventually joined a trove of other tourists making their way to the park, where bags were searched and tickets were scanned. And result, no food taken!

As always, our first stop was the toilets followed by a picture of the map as it has various trails and paths that lead off the main circular walk. There were lots of tour guides offering their services, but we decided to fly solo and take a look in the general direction of any big groups that may have spotted something. Our first detour was a half mile walk to the waterfall, which was less of a fall and more of a drip! Especially after seeing a truly magnificent waterfall in Monteverde! What also didn’t help is all the signage saying sensible shoes needed to be worn, so naturally G and I were flip flopping round the place! After returning back to the main route we saw a couple of raccoons frolicking in a little stream before heading onward to a sloth path where we saw no sloths! Thankfully our sloth satisfaction is fairly high, but it’s always nice to see a furry face! That is where the guides really come in to their own, their ability to spot nature and whip out a telescope so you can have a peak!

We pushed on towards one of the park’s private beaches via the cafe but alas it was closed so no snackage there! Possibly for the best as the area was over run with monkeys, including the toilets where several were queuing up for the taps to be turned on by passers by so they could have a drink! We followed some steps down to a little cove where there were several people along the beach and a few in the sea. G went for a little paddle but the current was extremely strong. It was a postcard picturesque view with various birds of prey soaring over the trees and waves crashing on to the shore. Everyone’s reaction when coming down the steps and beyond the foliage was the same, a combination of awestruck and glee!

Once we’d had our fill of La Playa 1, we moved on to La Playa 2! This was a much longer stretch of golden sand, with jungle at the back, the trees providing shade for many and blue seas stretching as far as the eye could see. There were lots more people in the water, laughing away as the waves tugged them here and there. We went for a dip and the water was warm, the sand smooth and it was most refreshing. We’d really got a sweat on walking through the jungle. I’ll be buying a ‘summer’ backpack as the squishy bits may make it comfier, but it’s just constant spongy friction which for someone who already radiates heat is just hotness overload! That combined with the suncream, general humidity and walking up and down steps… I could have stayed in that sea all afternoon! But in the heat of the day we paddled for 10 minutes before I dragged us back to our shady spot to reapply more suncream and top up our fluids.

We had a little bite to eat in the form of some grapes and contraband crisps, before taking a little stroll along the length of the beach. I’ve never seen so many crabs, from hermit crabs making their way down from the jungle and bustling around our towels, to larger crabs on the rocks in the sea. There really is nature every where you look here (although I still want to see a toucan properly!) I’m fairly sure we’ve heard them and possibly seen a group fly over the jungle. I should have taken Craigo up on his offer of using his fancy binoculars as the freebies from the National Trust aren’t quite cutting the salsa! We took another quick dip before drying off, seeing a big old lizard and heading back. The beach gets cleared out at around 3.30pm as the park closes at 4 and on our way back we did catch a glimpse of a little sloth smiling stupidly down at the his adorning fans.

After weighing up our options, we decided to have an early dinner in the town and very nice it was too especially as we were bloody starving! I had a beef burger whilst G went for chicken, complete with a brownie to share. We grabbed a couple of Cuba Libres (rum and cola tinnies) and headed to the public beach, which was still full of activity. From people playing volleyball, to having an evening swim but everyone was there for the same thing, the sunset! We picked our spot, took a pew and watched the sun drop from the sky beyond the horizon, leaving beautiful washes of pink, purple and orange behind. It wasn’t too long before the stars started to come out in their thousands as the crowds departed. We stayed for a while before miraculously making it on to the last bus and headed back to pick up some supplies in the form of more money and food for our jungle stay.

Alas, the food would have to wait as the shop was quite small and we wanted fresh bread. But on the plus side we were able to hop on another last bus?! Pura Vida! Nothing seems to stop when it should, but equally not everything is open when you think it will be so it’s hammocks and coconuts really! By the time we got back I was so ready to wash the day away, a combination of sand, salt and sweat! We rounded off our evening with a drink in the garden and booking our final accommodation in San Jose the night before we fly home. It’s hard to believe this trip is slowly coming to an end, but not quite yet! We’ve still got a couple of days deep in the jungle and Niko has confirmed pick up for 11am tomorrow! If rumour is to be believed (aka the Air BnB information) there is no chance of any blog updates for a few days as there’s no signal, no Wi-Fi, no way out!

So this is it. See you on the other side. Providing the jaguars don’t get us!

G’s highlight - Another bloody sunset! She’s asleep as it’s nearly 1am but bet your bottom colon (choice wording!) that it’ll be that!

[pointreyesjournal]

The Crack of Noon : ep188

When you drink and screw ‘till the crack of dawn, waking up at the crack of noon is a pretty good achievement. That being said, jet lag doesn’t resolve itself naturally. It does take a bit of effort and discipline to get your circadian rhythms adjusted for the new time zone. So tomorrow, we’ll try harder.

For now, we find our way topside just in time for lunch. Alexa has once again set a beautiful table on deck and everyone is gathered around in the warm Mediterranean sun enjoying cold cuts and charcuterie.

Autumn: What’s the plan on this beautiful day?

Beri: I’ve made dinner reservations and tickets for us this evening. Which means the ladies are coming with me and we’re picking out dresses for tonight. Guys, you’re free to do whatever you want today and we’ll see you back here for sunset.

Me: Theater tickets?

Beri: Surprise tickets.

Me: Ohh.

Henrik: I’ve got a little work to do today before we cast off tomorrow. So you two dudes are on your own.

Floody: Sounds like we’re going window shopping for Lamborghinis.

Me: I’ve got absolutely no problem with that whatsoever.

We finish lunch then everyone gathers up their shoes from the basket on the aft deck and we all depart the yacht together. Henrik heads off toward town with a little rucksack on his back (presumably with his laptop). The girls head off toward the fashion stores. And Floody and I just head off aimlessly looking to kill time and explore.

Only about one third of the built up area is the principality of Monaco. The rest is technically France. There are no borders. There are streets where it’s Monaco on one side, France on the other. Generally speaking, the highest-end shops are in the actual Monaco part of town. The “regular” shops, grocery stores, burger shops, etc etc are in France. Monégasque real estate is far too expensive for any regular retail shop. But if you’re shopping for Louis Vuitton, Hermès, or Patek Philippe on the Monaco side, you’re in luck!

Name a luxury brand, they’re all here. Ferrari. Lamborghini. Cartier. Tiffany. Dior. Balenciaga. Armani. All on offer.

Want to buy a yacht?

Want to design a yacht?

How about a Maserati?

Interested in buying a €20,000 bicycle from World Champion Philippe Gilbert?

Done. Done. Done and Done.

Floody and I, as if guided by a divining rod, end up at the Ducati store where we gaze, drool, and rub our penises on all of the Panigale sportbikes. Monaco is quite literally the perfect place on earth for a Ducati store. It’s warm and sunny every day, the city is surrounded by twisty roads of the French and Italian riviera, and there are unlimited funds in the city. It’s a sea of red carbon fiber. Floody and I are in heaven. 

This shoppe is like a greatest hits playlist of exotic and rare Ducati motorcycles.

Desmosedici RR? Check.

Panigale Superleggera in all three guises (1199, 1299 and V4)? Check.

Panigale V2 Bayliss? Check.

999R Xerox Superbike Replica? Check.

They’re all here, and more.

But what really piqued our interest is the row of Panigale superbikes lined up against the back wall. They look racetrack ready, not new.

Floody: Pardon Monsieur. These bikes, they are not new?

Monsieur Ducati Salesman: Oui Monsieur. Zees three on zee left, zee type “R” are for hire on zee racetrack. Zees three on zee right, zee type “S” are for hire on zee street.

Me: You rent out Panigales??

Monsieur Ducati Salesman: Oui oui Monsieur. Because of zee limited space to keep a motorbike in Monaco, many of our corse clienti choose to hire zee motorbike.

Me: So, we could rent these bikes today?

Monsieur Ducati Salesman: Yes, of course.

Uh oh. This is going to get interesting.

[babieshail59]

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[starlessea]

"Don’t Cry”

A/N This started off as a drabble, but I got carried away and it turned into a one-shot. I’m really happy with how this one turned out! Based on number #39 from this prompt list for @phoenixblack89​

Summary: Daryl hates seeing your tears. He’d much rather see you smiling, instead.

Masterlist

Buy Me A Coffee

Atlanta High School.

You’d graduated a long while back — so long ago now that you’d forgotten the feeling of walking its halls, and having your shoes squeak against the cheap wooden planks.

You could see the rows of lockers you’d chatted by daily, and the one in particular where you’d shared your first kiss with a boy whose name you couldn’t remember. The doors of the classrooms seemed familiar, as did the posters on the walls which were the same as they’d been when you attended — something about washing your hands and remembering to vote for class president.

It was as though time stood still.

And, in this very moment, there was nothing you wished for more.

Daryl’s hand was warm on your cheek, and his thumb gentle as he drew faint circles over your skin. You leaned into his touch, the same way you’d done with that boy against your locker — not even a few feet away.

But this was different.

This was Daryl.

Your lips quivered, trembling like a leaf stuck in the wind. Your hands felt numb as they pressed against him, so hard that you thought they would bruise. But all you could hear were those damn lockers — their doors slamming open and closed as they caught in the draft.

Like a sarcastic fucking applause.

Daryl tilted your head up, gently guiding your gaze from his collar to his face, where your eyes caught his. And your breath died in your throat, before bubbling into a sob that rang out in the air like the Atlanta High School bell.

He was smiling.

“Don’t cry,” he said — in the most calm, accepting tone you’d ever heard a person speak. It lacked all of his usual bite, the gruffness you’d come to know and associate with the man.

It sounded foreign.

Maybe that was why, despite his words, the tears poured over anyway, and settled on your cheeks where he swiped them away with a flick of his thumb.

“I wan’-” he started, but paused for a second to grimace from the pain. “I wanna remember ya smilin’.”

You choked on another watery cry, shaking your head away from his gentle hold, as you returned your focus to his wound.

The bite on his collarbone was deep, gushing blood quicker than you could soak it up with the tattered remnants of your jacket. His skin was a stark, vermillion red, as were your hands, as was the floor, as were those fucking lockers where you’d smeared his blood as you tried to carry him to safety.

Everything was red, red, red.

You pressed more firmly, soaking it up with fluttering hands that burnt from the sheer heat of his skin. He felt like a match having been set alight — burning brilliantly beneath your palms as you tried your best to quell the flames.

Daryl rested his hand over yours, engulfing it. “Listen to me, ” he rasped — and you panicked at how much more weak his voice was sounding — “there’s flares in my rucksack.”

He glanced over your shoulder, at the abandoned bag sitting near your feet. It was stuffed with supplies from the school — all of which were now completely useless, and nowhere near worth his goddamn life.

Sweat beaded on his skin, and collected in the dips of his collar — like little pools of salt water.

He squeezed your hand. “Ya gotta get to the roof an’ flag down Rick,” he told you, his smile dropping from his face as he became much more serious. “He’ll come for ya.”

Your hands stilled over the wound for a second, easing their pressure as you took in the man’s words. Then he flashed those eyes at you, which begged for you not to argue.

But you did.

You kicked out your leg behind you, sending that backpack sliding across those cheap wooden planks, and making it thud against a locker. You didn’t need the flares.

You just needed Daryl.

“I can’t-” you yelled, but your voice split, and the man quickly hushed you before it got too loud. After all, the dead had you surrounded. “I’m not leaving you behind,” you spluttered.

Your tone was frantic, panicked, desperate.

You could feel his heartbeat pounding underneath your palms, where you pressed down against it. It was as though you held his heart in your hands — and he’d probably argue that you always had.

Daryl shook his head smally, careful not to disturb the bite further. “An’ ya can’t take me with ya,” he replied.

No, you thought, you would carry him out if it killed you, you would fight your way through, and get him to the infirmary, and you could-

“I ain’t gonna make it, baby girl,” he whispered, “‘m sorry.”

And you broke.

Suddenly, you were aware of the flickering overhead lights that made his skin look so clammy, so sickly. You were conscious of the blood smear trail he’d left behind — that vibrant scarlet which reminded you of a burning sunset — and the pounding at the doors, and the feet squeaking on those floorboards like the lunchtime rush between classes.

“You will!” you yelled, not at all caring about how loud you’d gotten. “You have to, Daryl,” you cried, pleadingly.

His hand felt so warm that it made yours seem cold. It felt like you were the one dying — your heart shattering each time he took a wheezed breath, or flinched in pain.

“How am I-” you asked, but by now your voice had tapered off to a mere whisper. You shook your head. There was no question about it. “I can’t go on without you,” you told him.

You could hear the blood rushing to your ears as your breaths got away from you — too shallow and too sparse. Daryl looked worse each passing minute, his olive skin now a translucent grey.

He took both of your hands in his, making you drop your jacket, as blood seeped through the material of his shirt. You tried to fight against him, eyeing the trail of red as it ran along his collar like a stream, but he kept a hold of your wrists firmly — with the little strength he had left.

“Ya can,” he growled — the grit to his voice causing you to instantly still — “an’ ya will.”

And he flashed those eyes at you again, but this time they had his usual spark behind them.

“Yer the damn strongest woman I e’er met,” he went on, letting his grip loosen on your wrists ever so slightly, “‘m jus’ happy a dumb ol’ redneck like me got to spend a couple good years with ya.”

Then, he smiled.

“It was fun.”

He let your hands drop out of his, no longer having any fight left. But instead, you used them to clamber onto his lap, wrapping them around his torso as you buried your head deep into his chest — his warm, red chest.

“Please don’t talk like that!” you cried, your words muffled by his clothes and lost to his skin.“I’m not going anywhere! I want to stay with you-”

“Nah, that ain’t happenin’,” he snapped — but his hand remained light on your head, gently stroking your hair in his attempts to calm you. “I swear to god, I’ll haunt yer ass if ya dare pull somethin’ tha’ stupid.”

But you grabbed onto his shirt until your knuckles flashed white, bunching up the material in your fists like you couldn’t bear to part with it. It smelt like him — underneath the coppery scent of fresh blood.

Slowly, he tried to coax you out, but you could feel the way his hands shook, and it only made everything worse. Those hands had always been strong — had always been the ones to pick you up and set you back on your feet every time you fell.

“Look a’ me,” he pleaded, his voice croaky. He tilted your chin up again, in the same way he did every time he went to kiss you — and it made your heart hurt, because no kiss followed. “C’mon now, don’ cry,” he whispered, his breath much too hot against your skin, “‘m here.”

“But you won’t be,” you wailed, the words startling you as they crept out from your mouth.

You hadn’t wanted to admit them.

“But I am now,” Daryl replied, just as quick. “So please jus’ smile for me, would ya?”

His hand fell down to your waist, before rubbing small circles in the small of your back — just how he did every morning to wake you up.

You couldn’t do it, but you needed to do it.

For Daryl.

You uncurled yourself from his chest, and wiped away the fresh tears with your shirt, blinking away the rest. You moved in his lap until you were face to face, trying not to catch a glimpse of his wound which continued to pour red.

Then, you finally smiled back at him.

It was wobbly, and forced, but it was wide — and full of love.

“Atta girl,” he choked back, his voice breaking for the first time.

You couldn’t tell whether his glassy eyes were from the fever, or the pain, or from you, but you bit your lip either way.

Don’t cry, you told yourself, and watched as he did.

“Yer so goddamn beautiful,” he mumbled, raising his thumb to the corner of your lips. It was as callous as always, but at this moment it only felt soft. “I was one lucky son o’ a bitch,” he declared, with a warm smile.

You raised your hands in return, cupping his face and feeling his beard tickle over your palms — thinking back to the times you complained at how unkempt it was. His forehead dropped down onto yours, and the heat from his skin radiated outwards, setting you ablaze as you touched.

“I love you, Dixon,” you confessed, as though it were the first time and not the last. “Now and always.”

The overhead lights hummed as they flickered like camera flashes, and the pounding at the door became more incessant.

So, you drowned everything out with a press of your lips to his — as Daryl tilted your head up in the way he always did, and gave you one final kiss which tasted like seasalt and copper. It was underneath the locker where you’d had your first kiss, but now it marked your last one with the man you loved most in this world.

“Me too,” Daryl whispered, as you broke apart. He glanced over your shoulder once again, at the discarded backpack across the hall. “Now get outta here before they break through.”

You stumbled to your feet violently, needing a strong, stark shock to actually be enough to pull you away from the man for good.

And you didn’t look back.

You couldn’t. If you so much as caught a glimpse of those angel wings or heard as little as a breath escape his mouth, you wouldn’t have left.

And that would’ve killed Daryl in more ways than one.

So, you retrieved the backpack, and opened the fire escape door a few feet away, before slipping behind it, and sliding down to your knees.

The concrete cut your skin open, and once again you were confronted with red.

A cry escaped you, which morphed into a wail as you clutched your chest and tried to fix the bleeding happening inside it — the red that you couldn’t see.

But a shout startled you, and ceased your sobs as soon as they sounded.

“Don’ cry!” Daryl’s voice yelled, muffled by the metal door but still strong, and guttural, and fierce. “I can hear ya!”

So, you picked yourself back up, and set yourself on your feet in the same way he’d taught you how — and you ran for the roof, flare in hand.

Atlanta High School always had the best rooftop view.

The sunset stretched out in the distance, one of brilliant vermillion, and warm, copper orange. The balcony was the same as you remembered, with high metal railings to keep students from jumping, or getting too close to that view.

This roof had been the place where you’d yelled about hating this place, this town, this state — and had cried out to the sky about wishing to anywhere but here.

But now you didn’t want to leave.

Because your everything was right here.

You held the flare in your hand, wondering what colours it would burst and illuminate the sky — whilst praying it would be anything other than red.

You let off the flare, and a single gunshot followed.

End.

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A/N Blame Jess and Shannon for the increase in angst.

But I’m glad to be getting more comfortable with writing it!

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[sexbirthdeaths]

if i had an orchard

ship: morgan x garcia

summary: penelope is constantly shifting, growing with each passing day as a sapling grows to a tree. with each day he learns more and more what metamorphosis looks like, up close and personal - there are some things a book cannot teach you. and he can’t look away.

warnings: mentions of minor character death (hank morgan, the boy morgan finds in the junkyard), episode 3x09 “penelope”, rotting fruit/maggot imagery, religious imagery, implied murder (boy in junkyard), toxic masculinity

words: 3000

Derek is eight when his dad takes him camping for the first time. It’s the summer of 81, Sarah is entering middle school and Desiree is about to start Kindergarten, so after all of the stress of school applications, Hank proposes they just go out, enjoy the sights of Illinois.

So they go to Buffalo Rock, and he loves it, loves the smell of nature and the feeling of the sun on his skin. He plays soccer with his dad by the campsite whilst Sarah burns through her summer reading list and Desiree cries because she doesn’t like the bugs and she’s too small to play with the boys, and it’s the best summer of his life.

One night, his father pulls a bag of apples from the rucksack, suggests they bake them in some tinfoil over the fire. So while Fran puts Desiree away to bed, Hank sits him down by the campfire and shows him how to pare an apple with a penknife. Slow, using his thumb to stabilise the blade, careful not to cut his finger.

He cuts it straight through the core, hands Derek one of the slices to parcel up carefully in tinfoil. And once those are on the flames, he gives him the knife, another apple from the bag.

“Be careful,” Hank guides him slowly, hand hovering over Dereks’ own, “You don’t want to cut yourself.”

Derek peels it clean and precise, he’s always been a bit of a perfectionist like that. But when he cuts down the core of the apple, and the two pieces fall away in his palm, something is wrong. Very wrong.

His hand retracts in an instant, sends the apple flying, maggots spilling onto the ground into a writhing mass. His stomach is churning, twisting itself in disgust at the sight, and his father stomps it with his boot.

“That one was rotten,” Hank says, pulls the knife from Derek’s hand, “No good. It’s no good.”

Even when the apples are done baking, he can’t stand the sight of them, can’t stomach it after seeing the rotten fruit.

“Tenderness is a sign of rot,” Hank informs him as he eats his slices, “They shouldn’t be soft. That’s how you know they’re bad.”

And he takes that sentiment with him. Even when his father dies, especially when his father dies. He doesn’t cry at the funeral, he starts lashing out at anyone and everyone because to be soft is a sign of rot, of corruption at the core, it makes you undesirable and unwanted and sickening. Keep the toughest rind and you will come out the other side strong.

So he picks fights, even with the kids he knows will beat him. He’s always been a tall kid but Rodney has always been taller, stronger, but to turn the other cheek is a soft man’s path, and Derek Morgan is not soft.

He picks fights and he loses them, comes home battered and bruised and his mother will fuss over him, press a bag of frozen peas to his eye and sing him to sleep. She doesn’t care if he’s too old for it, he’ll always be her son. And even when the pain runs more than skin-deep, crawls through his veins and writhes like a maggot, sickly and decay-drawn, she will cradle his body like he isn’t crumbling from the inside out.

When Derek is 11, it’s the first Thanksgiving since his dad died. There’s an uncomfortable silence in the house as Sarah and Fran work on dinner, and Desiree’s out in the backyard with the neighbour’s kids. His grandparents aren’t coming this year, something about the Chicago winters being cruel on their arthritis.

There’s a faint layer of snow already beginning to settle outside, and he can see the constellations of snowflakes in Desiree’s hair as she finally bids the neighbours farewell and comes tumbling inside, ready to bound up the stairs.

“You promised you’d help me with the apple pie,” Sarah chides as she scoops Desiree up in her arms. The girl laughs loud and gleeful, the first real laugh since the day began, wriggles as she tries to escape her older sister’s grip. Desiree is a big girl now, 6 years old and wide-eyed and too mischievous for her own damn good, and she’s too big now for Sarah to pick her up with ease but she tries anyway.

Derek steps out, takes Desiree from Sarah’s grasp and slings her over his shoulder, grinning at the shrieks he hears.

“Come on, Des,” He laughs, “You promised!”

So, whilst his mom cooks the turkey and the mash and the myriad of thanksgiving side dishes, the three Morgan children converge in the living room, and work on the apples. Sarah peels them and Derek slices them, and Desiree just watches with her big brown eyes and pretends she's helping, because Lord knows no one trusts her with a real knife.

When they’re done there’s a pile of peels in a bowl. Their mom takes it, a sparkle in her eye.

“You know,” she says, grinning and setting down her knife, “There’s an old wives’ tale that if you throw the peel behind your shoulder, it will spell your husband’s name.”

Desiree and Sarah dissolve into giggles. Desiree’s too young to know what true love like that really feels like, too young to be thinking about marriage and life as an adult. And Sarah’s approaching it closer and closer with each passing day, she’s had her heart broken by careless boys to want nothing but a guarantee that the next boy will be the one.

So they take the peels and throw them. Desiree’s looks sort of like an L from the right angle, and Sarah’s is an A, if you use a bit of imagination, and Derek doesn’t get anything because he refuses to try it.

“That’s for girls,” he scoffs, puffs his chest up like a proud robin all red and strong.

“You’re impossible,” Is the response he gets.

When he is 15 he finds a boy’s body in the junkyard. All battered and bruised and broken and he wishes he could press a bag of frozen peas to his head like his mother had done, tell this boy it would all be okay. But it won’t be okay, and the case is never solved because the police don’t seem to care for kids like Derek or the boy, seem for focused on pinning things on them than catching their killers.

When he sees the policeman shake the community centre owner’s hand, Derek knows his killer will not be caught.

He goes door to door and pools up enough money to buy a headstone, and he visits it whenever he can, touches the cool rock and feels himself break. And he doesn’t know this boy, know his face or his name, but they feel connected. Through space and time and tragedy, maybe in another life they were friends. Maybe in another life it was him, and he would be the one rotting in the ground.

Move forward a few years and he feels like something inside of him is broken. Like he’s been torn apart and stitched back together again but something went wrong in the process. He feels moldy, he thinks one day as he’s filling out college applications, disgusting. If he could he’d rip all his skin off and scrub himself spotless. But this runs deeper than skin.

He gets the football scholarship, and his mother cries when he reads the letter because her baby is going to Northwestern and he’s gonna be something great, bigger than himself, he’s gonna change the world. And the success feels like the pinprick in the lid for him, like he can finally breathe as there’s a chance for him to go. Leave those rotten parts of him behind.

After college and the Chicago department, he finds himself starting in the BAU. The team is pretty small - Hotch is a hard-ass and Gideon is, well, Gideon, and the liaison stays in her office too much for Derek to really know who she is, but the BAU feels right for him. Gideon’s got some kid on his radar and so does Hotch, but they’re both so frustratingly secretive that he has no clue who they could be.

He fits right in like a puzzle piece that’s been missing for so long, takes on a role as the ladies’ man and the handsome coworker who flirts with you over coffee, but also the guy who’ll sit with child victims for hours to make sure they’re alright. Hotch hasn’t booted him yet so he figures he’s doing something right.

And then he meets her.

Penelope Garcia, she introduces herself as, and she’s so unlike any girl he’s ever met before with her long, dark hair and she acts like she’s the smartest person in the room (and after a few hours interrogating her, he figures that sentiment isn’t too far off). She’s got these big curious eyes and glittery pink acrylics and he can see the person that sits behind the dark facade.

They don’t hit it off, at first, because he’s proud and she’s defensive and he has a job to complete, but then Hotch informs him of the deal that’s been made, so he better start trying to get along with her. She gets along great with JJ, they eat lunches together in Garcia’s ‘batcave’ and JJ’s finally starting to open up a bit more, actually talks to Derek at the coffee machine in the mornings and asks how he’s been. Before, she’d talk to him, or Hotch, or Gideon even, with strained words and avoiding eye contact.

The first time he calls her babygirl is the first time he sees her properly flustered, cheeks red and stammering as she types away at her keyboard and Hotch gives him the mother of all death glares because they’re trying to run an FBI investigation here, Derek. But it makes him smile, seeing her all blushed pink, and he decides he likes it.

She pretends she doesn’t struggle sometimes, and he sees it. The mass of figurines and posters in her office are just a distraction technique - he’s well versed in those - and he knows just how taxing it must be for her, seeing all those awful things. She loves and she loves like it’s the only thing she knows how to do, full-bodied and all in, and some days he wonders if she’s really capable of hatred at all.

“How can you do it? How do you deal with it all?” She asks one day over coffee, voice small and sad. She’s seen some awful things over the past few days, and he wraps her up tightly in her arms. The worst thing is - he doesn’t know what to say. For as long as he can remember, he’s just been pushing it away and ignoring it. Letting it sit inside him and simmer, rip him from the inside out and just pray he’ll be able to pick up the pieces once he finally falls apart.

Things shift, change, over the years as people come and go. There’s a new kid, one Gideon’s been raving about for months who’s finally gotten all the necessary qualifications, even if some exams had to be waived. And he gets hurt, gets hurt bad, and Derek wonder’s if that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back because it isn’t long before Gideon leaves. There’s a new man in his place and they’re still trying to trust him, but he just isn’t Gideon, he isn’t the mentor and the peacekeeper and the caretaker that they’ve all grown to need.

Penelope is constantly shifting, growing with each passing day as a sapling grows to a tree. With each day he learns more and more what metamorphosis looks like, up close and personal - there are some things a book cannot teach you. And he can’t look away.

She has a date. She has a date and he doesn’t know why there’s this ache in his chest, like something’s been scraped out from him and left him hollow. But it’s her choice, he figures, he doesn’t own her. And then he gets the phone call.

Shot, he hears Hotch say over the phone, voice crackled and rough, and it’s like everything in him shuts down. Like someone’s ripping him apart limb by limb. That motherfucker. He will not know kindness from me. Do you need me? He asks, but Hotch just sighs.

She needs you.

And he’s driving to the hospital but he’s so pissed he can barely even focus, consumed by the rage bubbling within him, he wants to find that son of a bitch and make him feel a thousand times what Penelope felt. His skin is itching like thousands of maggots are crawling across him, it’s so overwhelming.

He feels rotten, like he’s so full of pain he can barely breathe, and his cheeks are wet and he doesn’t know why they are until he reaches up to touch them, realises he’s crying.

Men like Morgan do not cry. It’s a sign of weakness, he thinks, and you cannot afford to be weak. Not here, not now, you have never been safe enough to be weak. You bottle it up and ignore it, because to be soft is to be rotten.

He flashes his badge to the hospital receptionist and she informs him with pitying eyes that Penelope is in emergency surgery, that he can wait until she’s out and hear the verdict. So he collapses into the waiting room chairs, unable to look at the others, waits for Penelope to be okay.

Waiting lasts a century. All he wants is to take her in his arms and let her know she’s going to be okay, but he can’t. He can’t even guarantee that it will all be fine, because from what he’s heard it’s a bad wound from a good shot and it’s not looking good.

See, Penelope is an apple tree. She gives and she gives and she asks for nothing in return but a spot in the sun and a love her body has been starved of for years. And all Derek wants is to drown in blossom petals and cider, to drown himself in her warmth. All she asks for is to be loved, and that bastard didn’t even try. Derek will try, he will try and he will pray to a God he does not even believe in (Goddamnit he’s trying, he’s trying) if it means he can love her, if it means that she will be there to receive his love.

When the surgeon comes back, gives them the news, everything in him relaxes. Like the tightly-wound coil of a music box as the lever is finally released. She’s okay, she will be okay, no one must die today.

Her makeup is gone, hair a knotted mass, she’s traded out the bright clothes and heavy jewellry for a hospital gown. And she’s as breathtaking as ever, and Morgan can’t look away. He wants to reach out and hold her hand, press his forehead against hers, let her know that he’s here and everything is going to be okay, tell her how glad he is that she’s alive.

“You really love her, huh?” JJ asks with a smile, looks up at Morgan with a piercing, knowing gaze once they file out of the room, split up the group. She’s cradling a to-go coffee cup in her hands and disshevelled - she’d been the first one at the hospital, been in charge of letting everyone else know.

It’s JJ that knows Penelope the best, if not Derek. She knows the ins-and-outs of their relationship, she can see what they’re too scared to say to eachother. Love, he thinks, this is what this is.

“I do.” He nods.

“So tell her- show her, god knows she needs you right now.”

He waits until the others have left Penelope’s hospital room. The thing is - he flirts with her all the time, has himself branded as a ladies man, but it’s been so long since he’s had something real. He’s always been too afraid to show that tender side that a relationship requires.

But he’s tired of holding back. Penelope softens him, turns all his harsh edges hazy, makes his heart wrench in his chest. He has forgotten what it means to be rotten.

So he sits himself at the edge of her bed, doesn’t care if any of the others can see him through the window, all that matters is here and now.

“I almost lost you,” he says, voice soft, “I was so scared- I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you’d gone besides tear the bastard apart.”

He scoots closer, chair handle digging into him as he leans into her. His hand cups her face, feels her warm skin against his cool palm, heartbeat thrumming under his fingertips. She’s alive, good god, and she’s here with him, and maybe everything will be okay.

His forehead presses against Penelope’s own and she seems to welcome the movement, twists a handful of his shirt in her grip like she can’t bear the thought of ever letting him go. Derek has never wanted to be loved more than right now, loved by her.

He’d bite the apple for her, Derek thinks, swallow it down seeds and all. Because he loved her, he didn’t care if the fruit was rotten or wretched, damnation was a gift if he was condemned alongside her. He’d run to the edges of the world where all that could reach them was the moon and the stars, and he’d tell Penelope how he hung them just for her.

Kissing her feels like breaking the water’s surface. Being reborn, baptised under her hands, and for what feels like the first time, he can breathe.

[ab1tofsp1ce]

A Warmer Refuge

Chapter 7: Someone Else Again

Masterlist HERE

A/N: A special thank you to @mandos-things​ for your kind message, so here’s the next part!

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: Just some fluff (and a little bit of angst)

Description: Finally, you both reach Kistern - now what?

“Okay, but you have to promise me something,” I said, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” He grumbled slightly when he asked that question.

“Don’t… don’t open your mouth.”

“Why would I do that,” he asked incredulously.

“Just – just don’t, okay? I really don’t want to get my fingers in your mouth.”

“And what would make you think I would want your fingers in my mouth?”

I sighed exasperatedly, although with light-hearted intentions. “Never mind. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

I reached my arms out, feeling around the air as I shuffled forward until my right hand bumped into his shoulder. From there, I anchored myself by grabbing his other one with my left hand. They felt stocky and warm under my grasp; the only thing separating his skin from mine was a thin shirt. I let out a playfully dramatic sigh, shaking myself slightly, and then began to trace up his shoulders to his collarbones, then his neck, his jaw, and finally I was cupping his face in my hands. He had a ragged stubble that scratched my fingers slightly, and I smiled and hummed contentedly at the feeling under my palms. I tickled my fingers slowly up the side of his face to his eyes, to which he grunted and muttered something about how I was poking him. His eyelashes were surprisingly long, and I could feel his skin was aged, yet still smooth – probably as it was consistently hidden from sunlight. I traced down the center of his cheeks, past his nose, and to his lips, which I ran my thumb over gently. At this, I felt two hands snake their way onto my hips, and he peppered a small kiss onto my fingertips.

“Why did you want to do this?”

I didn’t answer right away, because truthfully, I wasn’t sure how best to word it without sounding ungrateful or cold. So, I deflected.

“What do you mean?”

“You could just look at my face, if you wanted.”

“Is that what you want,” I asked. I didn’t want to pretend I knew what he wanted, but I had my suspicions.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.” He sounded so dejected, and what made it worse was how he also sounded brutally honest.

“Did you want to take it off?”

There was a moment of silence. “Yes. But I had to.”

“Well, if you were forced – ”

“No,” he said, shaking his head lightly. “I wasn’t forced. I wanted to, but it was more than that. I – I needed to.”

I nodded. I appreciated what he was trying to say, and it didn’t take a genius to see it was hard for him to articulate. He was doing a better job than I was, standing here like an idiot not knowing how to explain myself without sounding like a bitch.

“The truth is, I’m scared,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared that once I open my eyes it’ll be real.”

“Would that be so bad?” I knew what he wanted me to say by asking that question, and so I felt guilty that I knew my answer right away.

“Yes, because I can’t stay here. In a few hours we’ll be on Kistern, and then I’ll go my way and you’ll go yours and… if I see your face, I don’t think I could ever do that. And I know that I have to do. So…”

“So, you can’t,” he sighed, and I felt a hand leave my waist and caress my cheek slightly. He understood.

“No. No, I can’t.”

His weight shifted and there was a momentary puff of his breath against my face before his lips came into contact with mine. It was a gentle kiss, as delicate and precarious as this all felt right now. It was a cruel trick of the universe, that just as I finally found a home, I would have to leave it. Right now, he felt so far away from the man in the suit of armor – it was hard to even believe they were the same person.

He pulled away slowly, as if it was a chore, and pressed a soft kiss against my cheek before starting to move behind me. But I grabbed him by the hem of his shirt and, eyes still closed, pulled myself into his chest, wrapping my arms around him. He obliged, in turn doing the same, and with my head in his chest I could smell him so clearly. It was something warm, like a foreign spice of sorts, mixed with rich woody tones and salt, like what I imagined the ocean to smell like. I felt him bury his face in my hair and sigh deeply, rocking me slightly with his overbearing frame. We stood like that for a while, and I soaked up every second of it, knowing when I let go, he would go and adorn his armor and be someone else again. Out there, he would be the Mandalorian but here, in my arms, he could be Din.

I tried to pretend it didn’t affect me. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, I allowed my focus to be enveloped by the view of my new home, rather than the dread of leaving what I had. As we jumped out of hyperspace, I got my first look at Kistern. What struck me as new and strange was the number of other ships around us. Larger stations orbited the planet, and I had never seen so many New Republic ships before.

As we came into the planet, there was a buzz through the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, this is landing tower 5, you need clearance to land on Kistern. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian leaned down and pressed something before responding to the call.

“Landing tower 5, this is D50 Genesis. I have a passenger with eligible refugee status, and I am the accompanying chaperone.”

There was a crackling pause over the intercom.

“D50 Genesis, may I please speak to the refugee?”

The Mandalorian looked over at me, nodding his slightly as a gesture for me to speak up. “Uh, yes?”

“Am I speaking with the refugee,” the woman asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Do you have your completed paperwork?”

“Yes.”

There was another brief pause.

“D50 Genesis, you're cleared for landing on terminal 14. Do you copy?”

The Mandalorian shuffled forward in his seat as I sat back down.

“This is D50 Genesis, I copy. Over and out.” The intercom switched silent.

I paused, feeling suddenly how loud my heart was beating. I couldn’t believe it. I was finally here, about to land. I felt only apprehension.

“How long do you get on Kistern,” I asked him. “I mean, I’m assuming they don’t just let you wander free down there.”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, staring forward as we entered the atmosphere. “I’ll take as long as I can get.”

I leaned back into my seat and stared at the roof of the ship, swallowing hard. He said it so calmly, like nothing had happened between us. How could someone feel so close to me and yet so far away? He didn’t even seem to care.

Part of me wanted to ask him, but the truth was that wouldn’t be fair. Because if he asked me the same question, I would be completely clueless. I wasn’t sure what to do, or what I wanted from him. I wasn’t even sure if there was anything he could give me. What would I do, trek around the galaxy with a bounty hunter? Not that he would ever want me to…

The ramp lowered and we were greeted by an officer, flanked by two guards. All three seemed rather taken aback at the sight of a Mandalorian escorting me down from the ship, although seemed to withhold any reaction.

“Welcome to Kistern,” said the officer, his eyes sliding from the Mandalorian to myself. “Can I see your papers?”

I dug around in my rucksack before producing a few slightly crumpled documents. The officer pilfered through them, occasionally looking up at each of us, almost skeptically.

“These are in order,” he said at last. “You can come with me to get your authorizations. We’ll, uh, give you two a moment.” His voice was laced with unease.

“Hold on,” I said, frantically. “He… you’re not sending him away, are you?”

The officer turned back to me with an eyebrow raised. “Well, he can’t stay… surely you know that. He has no jurisdiction on Kistern.”

“Can’t you make an exception,” I stammered, getting a bit desperate. “Just for… just for a couple of days? I – I just…” I could see the officer wasn’t buying it, so I reached over and took the Mandalorian’s gloved hand in mine. I could feel him tense up slightly under my touch, but he didn’t react. I pulled out my best desperate expression. “Please. I’ll never… I’ll never see him again.” Well, it wasn’t a lie.

The officer sighed. “I can give you 24 hours, no more. Come with me.” As he turned away, I exchanged a look with the Mandalorian, who seemed a little baffled. “Uh, thanks.”

“Hopefully it’s enough time…” I said, diverting my gaze and slowly letting go of his hand. “It’s better than nothing,” he admitted. “Come on,” he gestured, and I followed him after the officer.

Apparently, Kalbier had known nothing about Kistern, although this didn’t surprise me. The planet was not desertous like Yak’ish Temeen, and in fact, couldn’t be further from it. The city we were in was covered with a grey, dull sky, and was bordering a large ocean. The air was salty and somewhat humid and smelt of oil and smoke. The only immediate similarities I noticed between my home planet and this one was the variety of creatures inhabiting it. Once again, like that outpost on Utaran, many of them seemed to stare at us as we walked past, and I kept my eyes trained to the ground as best as I could.

We were taken to the New Republic’s post, where I was given a starting balance of 500 credits and keys to a lodging to which I had access to for four weeks. Their behavior was curt and professional, and I had to bite my tongue so as to not make my resentment apparent. I blamed them in part for what had happened on Yak’ish Temeen, and after everything they hadn’t done, they still treated me with civil disregard. I couldn’t be more pleased to get out of there.

The Mandalorian escorted me through the city streets; tall metallic buildings that created thin and crowded alleyways and backstreets. The streets were muddy and well-trodden, and the place was far less than pleasant.

“Kistern is notorious for pirates,” said the Mandalorian, placing a hand gently on my lower back to guide me through the crowds. “No wonder the New Republic wanted to get it under control as quickly as possible. But that doesn’t make it impenetrable. I’m sure there are plenty of pirates who would love to get back on this planet. Like our friends on Utaran…”

I tried to focus on what he was saying, which was valuable information, but I could only feel his gloved hand gently resting on my skin as we shuffled through the alleys.

We finally reached the lodgings, a dilapidated multistorey apartment covered in graffiti and adorned with flags and washing lines that hung out the windows between the buildings.

Inside, the room was small and minimally furnished. I walked over to the opposite wall and looked out the window, which boasted a view of the city sloping down to the docks. I heard the door shut and lock behind me.

“Keep the door and windows locked at all times,” said the Mandalorian. “And don’t stay in this town longer than you need to. I’ve heard there are far safer cities inland, and ones where your skills will be useful.”

I turned around and leaned against the windowsill, looking over at him. He was by the door, and there was something passive about the way he stood; he was trying to distract me from asking.

“Can I… what if I came with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“To find your… the person you’re looking for. You only have 24 hours here, surely you could use some help?” I knew my voice sounded desperate, but it was hard to hide how I was really feeling.

“No,” he said, with a tone of finality. I knew it was pointless trying to convince him, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.

“I’m not entirely useless,” I said, rather unconvincingly. “I’m sure there could be something –”

He interrupted me with a morose sigh, looking down at the ground. “Of course you’re not useless, but you’ll only tie me down while I’m out there.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster. Ouch. I tried to hide the pain in my voice, but he noticed, looking up at me.

“I didn’t mean it like –”

“It’s okay, really,” I said, mostly meaning it. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about doing what you do.”

He sighed. “What I meant was I’d worry too much. I wouldn’t be able to focus if you were with me…”

It still hurt, hearing what I already knew. It made me realize how starkly different we were and snapped me back into the harsh reality of our situation.

“Well,” I said, gathering what composure I had left. “I don’t want to keep you here. You’d… you’d better get going.” I avoided the eye contact he was so intensely trying to give me. He seemed to take a hint, and slowly turned for the door.

I couldn’t hold back. “Will you – will you come back to say goodbye?” He didn’t need to be looking at me to hear my pain as I choked on my words. I felt stupid, bleating it out like a child, but at the same time, I didn’t care.

“I’ll try,” he said. And then he was gone.

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, Present Mic x Reader, a sprinkling of Erasermic and eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Mature, not smutty but it is a bit gory

Trigger Warnings: Blood and Gore, descriptions of physical violence, nothing worse than on the show, but it’s there all the same. Also some Shirakumo related spoilers. 

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 13/16 (all chapters)

16-ISH YEARS AGO

“This is a terrible idea, just so you know.”

Shouta hugged his arms around his body, turning to look at the path behind him. His eyes were still growing accustomed to the dark and he had been almost entirely reliant on Shirakumo and Hizashi to guide him through the undergrowth, along a path tucked away by several layers of branches.

He had no idea where they were going, only that it was long after curfew.

“You worry too much,” said Hizashi. “Trust me, it’ll be worth it!”

Shouta pursed his lips together, more than a little conscious of how new he was to class 1-A. More specifically, how any wrong move could realistically end in him being returned to general studies.

He hadn’t wanted to go to the summer training camp, but ultimately the pros far outweighed the cons. Sure, he’d have to eat bad curry and share a room with students he barely knew, but missing out on the opportunity to master his quirk wasn’t something to be taken lightly. His presence there alone was a test, unofficially or not.

He had been exhausted when he finally rested his head, only to spend hours staring at the ceiling. In a matter of hours, he would have to push himself harder than ever and that knowledge alone made him nervous. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before either, instead stealing glances at the packed bag by his bedroom door. The more he tried to sleep, the more nervous he got, a vicious cycle he knew all too well.

He was still awake at light’s out; still awake when the majority of the other guys tucked themselves into bed and began to snore. He was still awake when Shirakumo and Yamada got up to leave.

He knew them from class, of course. If he had to label them anything, and was loath to do so, they were the closest thing he had to friends on the hero course. Yamada had offered up one of his earphones on the bus ride over to show him the song he’d been obsessed with, while Shirakumo frowned into the other. Shirakumo had nudged Shouta with a wink before dropping so many chilli flakes into the curry that it shone an angry shade of red. Shouta had no idea what his ultimate goal had been, only that the two members of class 1-A who finished their dinner did it on a dare.

Shouta knew they were up to no good the second he saw them tiptoeing across the room, dodging the arms and legs of their sleeping classmates. Whatever they were up to would almost certainly get him into trouble if caught. Even so, he followed them when they motioned for him to.

“We found it earlier,” said Shirakumo, crouching down beside a fallen tree and linking his hands to give Yamada a boost over the top.

Yamada whined as he climbed up and slid down onto the other side, far from pleased at having to touch the tree bark in so little light. Shirakumo turned to him and held out his hands, leaving Shouta grateful for the darkness. In this light, no one could see him blush.

He set his foot down into Shirakumo’s hands and put a hand on his shoulder for balance. He took a deep breath as Shirakumo boosted him, planting both hands down on the damp bark and pulling himself up. He was still much slower than they were, regardless of how long he spent running laps or doing pull ups. He landed on the other side without any sort of grace, stumbling on his ankle and grazing his hands across the floor. In any other setting it would have hurt, but the grass was soft and incredibly forgiving.

“Man,” said Yamada, who was still checking himself for bugs, “I’m going to itch for a week.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Shirakumo, landing softly. “C’mon, it’s this way!”

He raced on ahead, no longer concerned about waking up any of the professors. Shouta turned to Yamada, who grinned back and reached for his hand.

“C’mon!”

He squeezed tightly and followed suit, Shouta trailing behind and staring at their linked hands. It was so intimate and yet so casual and he didn’t know what to do.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to think about it for long, as they reached a gap in the trees and Yamada let him go. Shouta stumbled to a stop, jaw dropping as he took in their new surroundings.

They had arrived at the base of a waterfall, its waters twinkling in a near perfect imitation of the stars overhead. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Yamada and Shirakumo weren’t nearly as overwhelmed as he was, already in the process of settling down on the grass. Shouta followed suit, wishing he had a dozen or more heads just to take in every detail.

“It’s good, right?!” Shirakumo said as he and Yamada flopped back into the grass.

Shouta laid back far more slowly, taking care to listen to the whisper of the water and cool night breeze. He made sure to smell the flowers that crowned their heads.

“I…” he said, closing his eyes.

He wanted to say it was beautiful, that he was happy they had shared this secret with him.

He wanted to say how grateful he was to have such welcoming classmates who hadn’t hesitated to welcome him into their class.

In the end, though, he merely shrugged.

“It’s okay.”

~~~~

PRESENT

“What do you mean you can’t come? I need you to chaperone the girls.”

“Eraser, be more sympathetic,” wailed Nemuri. “I’ve never had such bad cramps before! I feel like I’ve swallowed a chainsaw.”

Shouta leaned against the bus, rubbing his temples and toeing the gravel.

He had hated summer training camps as a teenager and he definitely hated them now.

Shouta was sick of planning the summer camp. He was tired of so much as hearing about it. It was necessary, he knew that, but this one seemed to have been doomed from the beginning.

The last thing he needed was to have to replace a chaperone at the last minute, especially so early on into summer vacation.

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just take an aspirin.”

“I don't have any!”

“I do. Now hurry up, we’re leaving soon.”

He hung up before she could protest, only for his phone to start ringing again almost immediately.

“I already organised a replacement,” said Nemuri the moment he picked up. “A little last minute, but she’s definitely qualified!”

“What are you tal-“

He never got the chance to reply, for you strolled around the corner, rucksack strapped to your back and sunglasses perched on top of your head. You waved the moment you saw him and came rushing over, completely oblivious to the conflict playing out in front of you.

“I’ll call you back,” he said, hanging up on Nemuri for a second time.

She had a point and he knew it. You were the only member of the faculty who didn’t have lessons to plan and papers to grade. Even so, it made him nervous and he told himself it had nothing at all to do with the cutoffs you had on.

“(Name),” he said, “you…”

“Did you speak to Nemuri? Is she okay?”

Shouta slipped his phone back into his pocket, wondering exactly how much she had told you.

“She’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m sorry to put you out like this.”

“No, no,” you said, waving away his concerns, “I was already packed for Yamanashi. It’s not putting me out at all!”

It was just like you and he sighed, cursing Nemuri. He wanted to tell you to go home, but he didn’t know who else he could call in on such short notice and, given the current climate, it was important to keep as few people in the know about where you were going as humanly possible. Even if he called Recovery Girl or Thirteen, it was unlikely either of them would be packed and ready on time and he didn’t like the idea of having them arrive at the camp later, putting more vehicles on the road for the League of Villains to follow.

“We’re taking separate routes,” he said, against his better judgement. “You should travel with 1-B. They’re taking the shorter path.”

He pointed out the second bus, where Vlad was checking over his student rosters.

“Okay,” you said with a wide smile, “I’ll go and tell him about the change of plans.”

He watched as you left, all but bouncing on your heels. He knew you hadn’t experienced much close contact with heroes until recently and your excitement was only natural. Even so, he had a bad feeling about bringing you along, one that he wouldn’t put his finger on until it was too late.

~~~~

Your friends had laughed at you for packing your bags so early. The trip to Yamanashi was weeks away and you had more free time than usual thanks to summer break. Nemuri’s early morning phone call was satisfying in more ways than one. You didn’t need to worry about buying bug spray or picking out walking shoes. All you had to do was throw on some clothes and grab your bag on the way out.

You spent the bus ride turning the pages of a suspense novel, so absorbed in the action that you barely noticed where you were going or how much time had passed. You were almost a quarter of the way through when the bus finally came to a stop and the students pushed their faces to the windows.

“Everyone, calm down,” said Vlad, “back in your seats. You’ll have plenty of time to explore later.”

They groaned, but obeyed, prompting you to giggle and slip a bookmark between the pages of your novel. You were used to dealing with the chaos of 1-A. It was almost a relief to spend time with 1-B.

You and Vlad were the first ones off the bus and you gazed in awe at your forest surroundings. There were trees and mountains as far as the eye could see, wild and unapologetically untamed. You turned on the spot, wishing you could see everything all at once, only to find yourself on the receiving end of a bone breaking handshake.

“Good morning, good morning,” said the stranger. “Welcome to The Beast’s Forest.”

You took in the stranger’s enormous form; his broad shoulders and kitten paw gloves.

“I...um...thank you…”

“The Wild Wild Pussycats are helping us out with the training camp this year,” said Vlad, taking a moment to look away as the students filed off the bus. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It’s our pleasure,” said the stranger. “I’m Tiger and this is Ragdoll!”

He gestured to the woman beside him, who had on a matching set of kitten paw gloves.

“Pleased to meet you,” she cried out, hopping on the spot. “We’re so happy you chose to come here and train with us!”

“We’ll show you to your rooms,” followed up Tiger.

“1-B,” said Vlad, turning to the students, who by then had started to huddle round you. “Grab your things and get ready to unpack. We have a lot to do today, so no goofing off!”

~~~~

After everyone had unpacked, Vlad and Ragdoll left to take the students on a short hike. You stayed behind to help Tiger prepare dinner, as well as to help the girls from 1-A unpack and settle in once they finally arrived.

By all accounts it didn’t make sense. 1-A had set off before you, yet still hadn’t arrived. You thought about it as you washed and peeled vegetables, wondering if Shouta had done so deliberately as part of a training exercise.

They trailed out of the forest and through the doors at sundown, filthy, exhausted and starving.

“What on earth happened?” you asked, guiding them to the dorms while Pixie Bob and Mandalay finished up the food.

You didn’t get much of an answer, just whimpers of despair.

You watched as they trailed into their room, dragging their legs and clutching their hands over their stomachs, wondering what kinds of tortures they had endured in the forest.

As expected of UA , you considered. This isn’t even day one.

~~~~~~~

After dinner, the students took a dip in the hot springs and retired to bed, exhausted from the day’s events and anticipating an early start. You checked in on them before leaving the dorms, meaning to explore the grounds a little. You weren’t sure how much time you would have to yourself once the training actually started and wanted to make the most of it.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a break outside of the city. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been away from the city at all. Akira had always promised that one day you would take a week away in a cabin somewhere, though he had always been too busy for one reason or another to follow through. You had told yourself you thrived in the city, but the peaceful night air was proof enough of how wrong you had been.

The air was clean here; the silence broken only by the cry of cicadas in the distance. You had never seen the stars so clearly before and, now that they glimmered above you, you never wanted to stop looking at them.

At that moment, all you could think about was Hizashi. You remembered how it had felt to explore Musutafu with his hand in yours, so caught up in the beauty of your surroundings that you forgot how it felt to be sad.

What movie are we in?

You pulled your phone from your pocket and scrolled through your own songs as you walked, following the dirt path to an exposed area of grass framed by trees. You gave each tree an appraising look, trying to figure out which one would give you the best view, only to flop down in the middle and gaze up at the sky. You had never seen such a clear view of the summer triangle before: Orihime and Hikoboshi reunited in the stars.

Their story had always been one of your favourites, which proved fortunate, as it was your mother’s favourite too. She liked to sit you and your brother down and recite the story of the beautiful princess and her humble lover as a cautionary tale, meant to remind you of the importance of contributing to society, as opposed to childish fleets of fancy. Your brother, ever the dutiful son, had nodded along to her words and condemned the lovers for their passion, but you had always been something of a romantic. You often slipped up and said how happy you were that the lovers were reunited, to which your mother would pinch your cheeks. She liked to remind you that they would not have been separated in the first place if they hadn’t been selfish, nor would they have been reunited without the generosity of Orihime’s father.

Your mother was the only person you had ever met who spent Tanabata wishing for a rainstorm.

You hadn’t talked to either of your parents for well over a year. You hadn’t told them about the break up, nor mentioned your change in career. You weren’t naive enough to think they didn’t know. Your brother was still the obedient one and had texted you on the night of the USJ incident.

You wondered what your mother would say if she saw you now; if she knew Akira proposed to you and you had turned him down. She would probably faint if she knew you had slept with two of your coworkers, one of which had been a complete stranger at the time.

You gazed up at the sky and the summer triangle, finally understanding that you had always wished for Orihime’s happiness because you saw yourself in her. Perhaps your mother did too and that was why she pinched your cheeks so much.

You reached up to touch your own cheek and smiled, thinking of Hizashi and Shouta.

Hizashi was just as much of a romantic as you were and Shouta’s passions ran deeper than you’d ever presume to understand.

You couldn’t choose between them and never wanted to.

You were ready to be selfish and chase the stars.

~~~~

You weren’t the only one watching the stars that night.

Shouta perched in the branches of a tall tree several feet away, hiding in the summer foliage and watching the dorms for any signs of students breaking curfew. The irony wasn’t lost on him.

He had reached for his capture weapon the moment he heard the front door, only to loosen his grip when he saw who was coming.

He had watched you lay down in the grass to watch the stars; had watched you reach out to touch your cheek. He was reminded of a different summer camp at a different time; a time when he too laid his head in the grass to look up at the sky.

He lifted his hand and examined it in the moonlight. This was the hand that Hizashi had taken all of that time ago and, even though the skin had hardened and formed calluses, still tingled at the memory. He could jump fallen trees faster than Hizashi now; could navigate the dark without even trying. Even so, he still thought of hands in his and didn’t know what to do.

He wanted to go back to the waterfall from all those summers ago; wanted to link his hand in Hizashi’s again and lay back to watch the stars with your lap for a pillow.

He wanted to tell you that you were beautiful; that if anyone was to make him feel so illogical, he was glad it was you.

The more things changed, though, the more they stayed the same. He touched his fingers to his lips, tracing the spaces you had kissed even as you got back up to your feet and headed to the dorms, an expression of determination on your face.

He wanted to go after you, but his legs wouldn’t move.

He wanted to whisper the truth of his complicated feelings in your ear, but couldn’t say a word.

He was taller and stronger, yet still no different to the boy from all of those years ago. Now, just like then, he told himself that you were better off not knowing; that one day he would be brave enough to say his feelings out loud, but it wasn’t this one.

He had no idea how far the parallels ran. Now, just like then, he was running out of time.

~~~~~~

On a day to day basis, Vlad didn’t spend too much time with Aizawa or the students of 1-A. He definitely didn’t spend much time with you . 1-B hadn’t experienced as many traumas as 1-A. The only motivation he might have had to stop by your office unexpectedly was to make conversation, though you always seemed to be busy whenever he passed. When you weren’t chatting with students or rearranging the notice board outside of your office, you were chatting with Kayama and Yamada and sometimes even Aizawa.

He had been surprised when you came over to him the previous morning, sheepishly admitting that you had come to join them in Midnight’s stead, but he hadn’t questioned it.

The night before, though, he had definitely started to question some things.

He had drifted out of sleep to the sound of a soft tapping outside of his bedroom door. It was too faint to be his own door, though the idea that it might be a student bothered him. He got up and opened his own door by a sliver and peered out into the darkness.

Aizawa’s room was a little further down the corridor and you were standing in front of it, softly tapping at the wood and shifting on the spot.

“Everything okay?” he had asked, prompting you to jump in surprise.

“I...I um,” you had said, glancing from him to Aizawa’s door. “Everything’s fine, I just needed to…”

You had waved almost frantically, a blush peppering your cheeks.

“It’s nothing...I’m sorry I disturbed you!”

He had watched you scurry out of the men’s dorms, chancing glances over your shoulder at him and shooting awkward smiles.

It was strange to say the least, and he wondered about it long into the night. It still played on his mind as he took a seat at the breakfast table. The students were still in the process of getting up and only you, Aizawa and Vlad himself were around, helping yourselves to bowls of rice and cups of coffee. Vlad picked at his own food, still curious about the night before. He watched as you shot second and third glances at Aizawa, visibly gathering your nerves. He saw you get to your feet the second Aizawa did and follow him to the buffet table. He listened in as you began to speak in nervous whispers.

“Shouta,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder, “I need to talk to you.”

“You’re talking to me now.”

“I mean...I need to talk to you... alone .”

Vlad dropped his gaze as you looked in his direction and shovelled food into his mouth to disguise the fact that he had been eavesdropping.

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Are the students okay?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” said Aizawa, lowering his cup. “We can talk about it later.”

“But…”

“Later.”

Aizawa left you at the breakfast buffet with no further room for argument, slipping back down into his seat on Vlad’s left as if nothing had happened. You followed, flopping down into your own seat on Vlad’s right, all three of you eating in silence. Vlad’s eyes darted from his left to his right, as intrigued by this new development as he was annoyed.

~~~~~

“It’s okay, deep breaths, deep breaths!”

You patted Uraraka on the back, holding her hair back from her face as she wretched. She clasped her hands over her mouth, self conscious about throwing up in front of her classmates, but too wobbly on her feet to reach the portable toilet nearby.

“Come on,” you said, easing her arm over your shoulders and guiding her to her feet. “Slow steps.”

You guided her to the toilet, only letting go as she shut the door behind her and taking the chance to look around at your surroundings. The sun was up and training well underway. 1-A and 1-B had been assigned individual training exercises to improve their quirks and the result was organised chaos.

You didn’t have any sort of combat training, so settled for weaving your way through the crowds, offering up sips of water, pats to the back and encouraging words. It was something, at least, and gave you ample opportunities to try and get Shouta alone.

You had decided to tell him everything, from your night with Hizashi to your realisations about yourself and your own feelings. You had to be honest with him, even if it meant being rejected. You knew he had some kind of feelings for you. You knew that he wanted you on some level. You needed him to see your side of things, though so far had been unsuccessful. Every time you got closer, he found somewhere else to be.

It was disheartening, to say the least. You wondered if telling him the truth was a mistake, though shrugged off the idea almost immediately. If you never told him the truth, you’d never know his reaction.

You knew that the moment you returned home, back to your house and regular job, you would lose all of your confidence. You’d not only go back to your regular bed, but your regular demons as well.

You thought you knew better than anyone that you were running out of time and the clock was ticking, but had no idea that the end was much sooner than you thought.

You thought you had until the end of the week.

In reality, you had about 36 hours.

35:48:32

~~~~

23:59:47

“So what’s the story with you and Eraserhead?”

Your eyes bulged.

“W-what do you mean?”

You switched off the showerhead and turned back towards the onsen, realising too late that you were on the receiving end of not one but three sets of eyes.

You had tried to get Shouta’s attention again at dinner, but he had announced plans for extra lessons with the underperformers in his class. Whatever it was you had to say to him could wait until later.

You had been more than a little depressed at this development, though nowhere near as upset as Kaminari and Ashido, both of whom had begged for you to rescue them.  

You must have looked unhappy as you stepped outside, for you were almost immediately jumped by Pixie Bob, Ragdoll and Mandalay, who invited you to take a soak in the hot springs with them. Maybe it was the prospect of girl talk or the fact that they reminded you so much of your own trio of girlfriends, but you took them up on it.

You hadn't expected them to ask your love life so directly.

“I...I...uh…haha, Eraserhead? Eraserhead and me?”

They grinned at that and you didn’t blame them. In their position you wouldn’t have been convinced either.

You sighed, setting aside the showerhead and getting to your feet.

“We had sex,” you said, sinking into the water. “Twice.”

“I knew it,” said Pixie Bob, nudging Mandalay. “See? I told you. I always know when people are sleeping together.”

“Oh, we’re not sleeping together anym-“

“But you’d like to?!” Ragdoll asked, tilting her head to one side.

“I…I…”

“It’s like a sixth sense,” Pixie Bob continued, seeming not to notice. “A second quirk, if you will.”

“ Sure going to come in handy during a rescue mission,” sighed Mandalay.

“Don’t be so dismissive! We could...I could,” Pixie Bob scratched her chin until inspiration struck. “If someone had heavy blood loss, I could ask their lover for their blood type!”

“What kind of guys have you been hooking up with? Vampires?”

Pixie Bob looked offended at the very idea, though Ragdoll only smiled.

“Does Eraserhead know your blood type, (Name)?” she asked, returning you to the center of attention.

“Honestly? Probably.”

It wouldn’t surprise you, all things considered. You were still convinced he’d read your staff dossier during your first few weeks at UA.

“See,” said Pixie Bob. “Sixth sense. Incredibly useful.”

Mandalay sighed and rubbed her temples.

“You must think we’re crazy.”

“I work for UA,” you laughed, “I can handle crazy.”

“I’m sure you can,” said Pixie Bob, with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows that made Mandalay groan. “Seriously, though, what’s the story with you two? How’d you end up... knowing each other’s blood types?”

You weighed up the pros and cons of telling them, before ultimately throwing caution to the wind. You hadn’t even gotten around to telling your friends the full story, much less about your intentions to confess to Shouta. Hizashi and Nemuri didn’t know about the night at Ego ; it had always seemed inappropriate to tell them.

It was a relief to finally have the whole story off your chest and, for the first time since your arrival, all three of the Pussycats were silent, all pondering the same thing.

It was Mandalay who spoke first.

“We’ll help.”

“H-huh?!”

“Yes,” said Ragdoll, giggling with glee. “We’ll take care of everything. ”

To their credit, they really did have everything worked out.

The following evening, once training was complete, they planned to host a ghost walk, pitting class A against class B. While the walk took place, the teachers would host remedial classes with their underperforming students, just as they were doing now.

Unbeknownst to any of the students, however, they also planned to have a barbecue once the ghost walk was finished. Both Vlad and Shouta had agreed to take a break from the remedial classes around that time in the hopes of restoring the morale of the underperformers, giving them at least one good memory of summer camp.

While the students gathered around the campfire, the Pussycats would send you and Shouta back into the woods to double check all of them had returned. It was the perfect opportunity to have a private conversation and you could hardly wait.

You returned to your room on a high, both so anxious and excited that you could barely concentrate on your book.

Your fingers trembled. You wondered what you would say. You had originally planned to make it up as you went along, but having a deadline gave you more of an incentive to think it through.

You rested your head against your pillows and laid your book down on your chest.

You had a feeling the next day was going to be eventful, though had no idea how right you really were.

~~~~

17:30:24

Remedial classes went about as well as was to be expected. By the time he escorted them back to the dorms, they were in varying states of despair.

“Don’t look so sad,” he said, “it takes dedication to be heroes. If you fall apart at every hurdle, your career won’t last very long.”

He dropped Mina off at the girls’ dorms last of all, waiting for her to close the door behind her before continuing up the corridor and back out towards the entrance. He paused midway, noticing that your bedroom door was open by a sliver and the light still on.

He remembered what you had said to him at breakfast; how nervous you had been. He felt a little guilty for keeping his distance, but had a feeling whatever it was you had to say to him was something that would require one hundred percent of his attention and time, which at that moment he was unable to give.

He knocked at your door before stepping inside, a soft smile creeping across his face at what greeted him. You had fallen asleep reading, a book resting over your face and cell phone in your hand. He could hear you snoring underneath it and took a couple of silent steps forward, just until he was close enough to pick up the front and back covers between his thumb and forefingers and peel it off your face. He slipped your bookmark between the pages and rested the book down on your bedside table, finally reaching across to try and slip the phone out from your hand.

You had starfished your body across the bed and it wasn’t difficult to loosen your grip on the phone. For one nerve wracking second, Shouta thought he’d woken you, for you crumpled up your face and rolled over onto your side to face him, murmuring in your sleep.

“...fair,” you said. “Sh...fair.”

He looked down at the hand closest to him, palm upwards across the bed. His own fingers twitched at the sight. He remembered how it had felt to hold your hand at Ego ; how you had trembled as you followed him through the club. At the time he had dismissed it as excitement, but now that he knew you better he understood it was nerves.

“Shouta,” you murmured, eyes closed and words slurred from sleep.

“I’m here,” he said, putting your phone down on top of your book.

“Sh…” you said again. “...un.”

He pulled the blanket across your body and you snuggled into it, a peaceful smile breaking out across your face. He wanted so badly to wake you up, but couldn't bring himself to. He knew he’d regret it later, though had no idea how much.

“Sleep tight,” he said, stepping back out of your room and switching off the light.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back towards the entrance, oblivious to the fact that he was being watched.

Mina Ashido had gone into the washroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair and noticed your open door on the way back. Initially she had wandered over to wish you goodnight, but froze on the spot when she saw Aizawa tucking you in.

She clasped her hands over her mouth as he walked out of the door, pressing herself against the corner of the wall to remain out of sight. She was curious, yes, but not so curious that she was willing to risk even more remedial classes.

She rushed into the girls’ dorm room the moment he was gone and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Everyone,” she hissed, as the others groaned and rubbed their eyes, far from impressed at the early morning interruption. “Wake up! You’re not going to believe this!”

~~~~~~

14:42:45

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know what I saw!”

News of your late night interlude with Aizawa was the talk of the 1-A breakfast table, even if everyone was divided. While Aizawa’s presence in your room definitely raised questions, there was no evidence it had been anything other than innocent. Mina had seen him tucking you into bed and nothing more, leaving the events of that night up to personal interpretation, of which there were many.

“I’m telling you,” said Mina, “he was smiling . It was weird.”

“She could have told him a really good joke,” shrugged Kaminari.

“In her sleep ?”

“Remember that time I told Professor Aizawa a knock knock joke?” Sero said, grimly. “He made me do laps.”

“It was a pretty bad joke,” chuckled Tsuyu.

“You’re all wrong,” said Hagakure. “She’s dating Present Mic!”

“Present Mic?” said Uraraka, sounding more than a little confused.

“They do seem to get along well on his radio show,” said Deku. “That doesn’t mean they’re a couple, though.”

“Maybe she’s dating both of them,” shrugged Kirishima, to which everyone began to chatter in uproar.

“In any case,” said Iida, bellowing over everyone as he lowered his orange juice, “it’s inappropriate to speculate on the private lives of our teachers.”

“But that’s what makes it fun ,” said Mina, who was more than a little put out that people still didn’t believe her.

She glanced over at the teacher’s table, where you and the Pussycats were deep in discussion and Aizawa and Vlad compared notes on their lesson planning.

She knew what she had seen, but had no idea how to prove it.

~~~~~

1:24:21

The third day of training passed just as quickly as the first. You rushed around the grounds, handing over bottles of water and offering words of reassurance. It felt like a workout even though you weren’t the one training and you breathed a sigh of relief when it finally came to a close.

You mopped your brow and peered out over the horizon, taking in the golden sunset.

It was almost time.

~~~~~

00:24:12

Shouta...I’ve been thinking…

We need to be honest with ourselves. You aren’t Hizashi and Hizashi’s not you. You aren’t each other’s substitute and it’s unfair to everyone to pretend you are.

You frowned as you took a sip of soda.

You’d been lost in thought ever since you’d arrived at the midpoint with Ragdoll, going over and over everything you wanted to say to Shouta. In many respects you felt guilty, for you knew you weren’t paying as much attention to the ghost walk as you should.

You didn’t notice the thump of heavy footsteps nearby until Ragdoll herself hopped to her feet to listen.

“What...is that…”

“Is it a student?”

Ragdoll squinted and moved closer to the trees. The footsteps had slowed, but were still audible in the distance. You got up yourself, but she motioned for you to stay where you were.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said with a smile. “Maybe Pixie Bob made one of her earth creatures for extra scares.”

She walked towards the trees, disappearing into the shadows and out of sight. It made you nervous, though you didn’t know why. You tapped your foot against the ground and chewed your bottom lip, listening as both Ragdoll’s footsteps and the heavy ones fell silent.

It lasted only for a second, though it felt like years. You reached for the satchel of extra gear the two of you had packed and rummaged inside of it for a torch. You knew you shouldn’t leave your post, but you wanted to feel just a little safer.

“R-Ragdoll?” you called out, fiddling with the switch. “Are you-“

The footsteps started again and you froze in place, watching as something emerged from the trees. You dropped the torch and it flashed on when it hit the ground, illuminating the enormous creature stumbling towards you.

Your heart froze in your chest and you took a step backwards, insides turning to water.

You recognised this sort of creature from Tsukauchi’s investigation of the events of USJ, though had only ever seen them in photos. You shivered as you took in its exposed brain and dead, fishlike eyes, watching helplessly as Ragdoll thrashed in its grip.

“Get out of here, (Name),” she called out, the creature squeezing her body until the radio fell from her head. “Tell the others!”

You knew that you should obey her, but you were frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but watch as two other figures emerged from the trees. One was a young man with a patchworked face; the other wore a black and white costume that hid any identifying features from view.

The man with the patchworked face glanced from the creature to you, examining you from head to toe as if coming to a decision.

“Hmmm,” he said. “You aren’t on the list.”

You had no idea what list he was talking about, nor why you weren’t on it. You wondered if he was talking about the list of attendees to the summer camp, though prayed you were wrong. The camp’s location was a secret, or rather, was supposed to be one.

“Run!” Ragdoll screamed again and this time you obeyed, sprinting away along the dirt track and back towards camp.

The patchwork-faced man turned languidly to face his companion and shrugged.

“Twice,” he said, “make a copy. We can’t have her alert the others.”

“Right away! Just leave it to me!”

“Honestly, we only just got here and already you’re telling me what to do.”

You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see two identical men with patchwork faces, one of which was beginning to follow you.

Shit, shit, shit.

You ran away, reaching into your pocket for your phone. You needed to warn the others, you needed to-

Shit

You stumbled over an uneven spot in the floor, phone soaring out of your hand and into the trees as your mouth filled with blood.

You rolled over onto your back and crawled over to reach for it, though the tumble had slowed you down significantly. The second patchwork man strolled towards you at a leisurely pace as if you hadn’t bothered to run from him at all. You pushed yourself up onto your feet, but your ankle throbbed and caved in, leaving you crashing back to the ground.

“Ow,” you muttered, shuffling back towards the trees and out of danger, though not remotely fast enough to get away.

“They said I’m not s’posed to hurt you,” he said, taking a step closer, “just scare you a little.”

He smirked, taking in your burst lip and grazed knees; your frantic rummaging through the bag of supplies.

“Looks like my job’s already been done for m-“

He inched backwards as you dragged out the thing you’d been looking for: a flare gun, packed in case of emergencies. It was harmless, of course, but in the darkness looked just like the real thing.

“Tell me,” you said, “are you a clone?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, conflict visibly playing out across his face at the activation of your quirk.

“I am,” he said.

“Tell me,” you said again, far more forcefully, “do you share memories? Will you both remember this conversation?”

“I share his memories. He doesn't share mine.”

You didn’t know if the clone shared the original’s quirk as well as his memories and were more than a little aware that you only had a short window before he figured out you weren’t holding a real gun.

“ Tell me ,” you said. “Where is the league of villains? Where do they gather?”

He squeezed his hands together, blue flames rippling across his skin as he recited an address. You committed it to memory and then pulled the trigger, limping off into the trees as he dodged the red sparks.

You limped as fast as your legs would carry you, finally collapsing behind a tree to catch your breath. You reached for your phone with shaking hands, writing out the address in a message to Shouta and cursing under your breath when it failed to send.  

“Come on, come on, come on,” you said, tapping ‘resend’ over and over to no avail. You had to warn them, had to tell them.

You gave up on sending the message and used the tree as a guide to get back up onto your feet, wincing as almost every inch of your body ached in protest.

Come on , you willed yourself. Come on, (Name), you can do this.

You weren’t a hero, but none of the kids were yet. You had joined UA to guide and protect them and cuts and bruises didn’t change that obligation.

You froze in place at the sound of footsteps, clapping a hand over your nose and mouth, eyes darting around at your surroundings. The trees swayed in the evening breeze, the stars shone brightly overhead, seemingly oblivious to what was happening within the forest. You squeezed your eyes shut, heart pounding and skin clammy.

Why had the villains come here?

What was their goal?

You wished you had asked the patchwork faced man while you still had a chance.

The footsteps faded, their owner retreating in the opposite direction. You breathed a steady sigh of relief and peeped out behind you at the path you would need to take to get back to the main path. It would probably be faster to go through the woodland and you turned back to get your bearings, heart stopping as you found yourself looking into the mouth of another stranger, one who was currently dangling from the branch above you and grinning widely, revealing a set of shining teeth.

“M...meat,” he said, dropping to the floor and leaning back, one of his canines stretching from his mouth and slicing open your arm. “Fresh meat.”

You knew this villain. You remembered his court case; your father led the prosecution and landed him on death row.

Moonfish

You remembered going for coffee with your brother, who at the time was interning at your father’s law firm. It was his first real case and it affected him deeply. He refused to talk about it, even now that years had passed.

After seeing the villain in the flesh, you thought you understood why. He moved with inhuman dexterity, landing in front of you before you could so much as move.

You saw the blade coming. You heard it pierce the tree.

You didn’t, however, feel it go through your body, not until he jerked his head back in an attempt to free his tooth from the tree bark. You screamed in pain, the wound burning every time he moved.

“Show me,” he said, yanking his head, “show me how you look on the inside.”

His tooth snapped and he stumbled backwards, leaving you to flop forward, blood soaking through your shirt.

“Show me,” said Moonfish, stumbling forwards. “Let me taste your flesh.”

You opened your mouth to protest, ears ringing.

You didn’t know what you meant to say to him, only that you never got the chance. He stepped forwards to land the finishing blow, only to hear a noise in the distance. You heard it, too, eyes bulging in realisation.

The students still didn’t know about the attack and were continuing on the ghost walk. A pair of them were nearby, discussing the possible tactics of 1-B.

You searched your brain for the order, though struggling to settle on a single thought, skin prickling as Moonfish retracted his teeth and disappeared into the night, far more interested in a different sort of prey.

You tried to move, only to cry out in pain. The broken tooth seemed to have gone right through not only you, but the tree. If you tried to pull it out, you would almost certainly bleed to death far faster, but if you stayed there it wouldn’t just be you who bled.

You snatched up your phone and frantically dialled everyone in your phone book, blood soaking through your shirt and shorts.

You dialled Shouta to no avail.

You dialled Hizashi, who was in the middle of recording his radio show.

You dialled Nemuri, who was filming an interview on a late night television show.

“Someone,” you murmured, vision going dark and limbs going floppy. “Someone…”

You looked up towards the sky, taking in the bright stars with a bitter smile.

You knew it was impossible, and she was far away, but you could feel your mother pinching your cheeks.

~~~~~

00:05:20

Of all of the heroes in all of the world, Eraserhead was perhaps the most mysterious. What few people knew of his existence knew even less about the man. He was a shadow, venturing out of the darkness only to ambush would be criminals and vanish just as quickly as he came.

He worked best after dark where he could travel unseen. Ironic, therefore, that on this night in particular he stumbled over his feet. He sprinted through the undergrowth, phone pressed to his ear.

Hello, this is (Name). I’m not around at the moment, please leave a message!

“Come on,” he hissed, coming to an abrupt halt and dialling again.

Shouta glanced around at his surroundings, entirely in his element, yet powerless to act.

After returning Kota to the lodge, his phone had exploded with missed calls and messages.

“What is it?” Vlad had asked, noticing the blood drain from his face.

“I’m forwarding an address,” he said, copying one of your messages. “Pass it onto the police when they get here.”

“An address? What-”

“Just pass it onto them! It’s important!”

He had no idea why it was important, of course, only that you wouldn’t have sent it to him so many times if it wasn’t.

Your phone went through to voicemail again and he swore under his breath,

“Idiot,” he hissed. “What did I tell you about facing unknown villains?”

He remembered the night you got him with pepper spray.

Why would you try and confront a villain without help? You could have gotten yourself killed.

“You better not have done anything stupid,” he said, dialling your number again to distract himself from the fact that if you had gotten that information by using your quirk, you must have gotten close to a villain.

“Over here!” Tiger yelled nearby. Shouta followed the sound of his voice, arriving at what had previously been the midpoint.

His ears began to ring when he saw what remained of it: an abandoned table, soaked with blood, an abandoned torch flickering on the ground.

“This...this is Ragdoll’s radio,” said Tiger, lifting it up from the floor. “Oh my god…this...this is blood!”

“This blood’s cold,” said Shouta, dipping his pinky finger into it and glancing across at the radio in Tiger’s hands, “most likely hers.”

“There’s so much,” said Tiger, voice breaking, “that idiot...her quirk isn’t suitable for combat. She knows that.”

Shouta crouched down to pick up the abandoned torch.

“There’s no blood on this,” he said, turning it over in his hands. “Whoever dropped it wasn’t injured.” He fiddled with the on switch and turned to face the table, where Tiger had picked up Ragdoll’s abandoned radio. “They were frightened, though.”

“(Name),” said Tiger, picking up his train of thought. “Ragdoll...she must have told her to run.”

Shouta cursed and followed the dirt track, dialling your number as he went. He froze on the spot when he spotted an abandoned flare in the mud.

“This way,” he called out, rushing over and crouching down to examine it.

By then, it had largely burned out, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

Generally speaking, people fired flare guns into the sky. This one had pretty clearly ricocheted off a tree. Whoever fired it had done so in self defense, as a distraction.

“Did you find anything?”

Shouta glanced over his shoulder to see Vlad arriving from the opposite direction.

“Did you see anyone on your route here?” he asked, stomach churning at the head shake he got in response.

“They’ve sent out a helicopter to track down any stragglers,” said Vlad, pointing to the sky. “We’ll soon have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”

“There’s not enough time,” said Shouta, dialling your number.

He had a pretty good idea of the sequence of events so far and didn’t like it one bit. You and Ragdoll had likely been ambushed by multiple villains. Ragdoll had almost certainly told you to run, not only because you were a civilian, but to raise the alarm. Someone had followed you to this spot, but what had happened next?

He got his answer a few seconds later, for somewhere to his left a phone started to ring.

“That way,” he said, sprinting in that direction, Vlad not far behind.

He couldn’t seem to move fast enough; his legs felt heavy, as if he was wading through water.

He followed the sound to its source and froze on the spot at what greeted him.

It was you, impaled by a long, jagged piece of metal that ran all of the way through the tree behind you. Your hands, lips and clothes were covered in blood, cell phone still ringing in your lifeless hand.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t say a thing, not even as Vlad arrived behind him.

“(Name),” said Vlad, dropping to the ground and examining your wounds. “(Name)...”

He turned to Shouta, ready to tell him that you were still warm, only to fall silent at the sight of him standing there. His mouth opened and closed helplessly, an expression of unspeakable horror and dread across his face.

He clasped a hand over his mouth and turned away from the scene, the scent of blood and smoke making him retch. He remembered every time you had asked to talk to him; every time he had chickened out of saying how he really felt.

Vlad was calling out to him, but he couldn’t make out a word, too lost in memories to be at all coherent.

He remembered you tapping a wet cloth to his face so many months ago. He had been furious then, though it all felt meaningless now.

You need to be more rational in these things. Running head on into danger gets people killed.

Good job I had a big, strong Eraserhead around to protect me.

“Aizawa,” said Vlad, “Aizawa...she’s…”

He didn’t get an answer, though, just a yell as Aizawa dropped onto his hands and knees.

They were in the forest, but all he could hear was rubble crashing to the floor, silently taking Shirakumo with it.

To this day, he still wasn’t fast enough.

Vlad turned back to you and tucked your hair behind your ear, face dropping at the muffled mumbling coming from your lips, intertwined with the muffled sobs coming from Aizawa that he would later pretend he didn’t hear.

“Shouta...it’s unfair...unfair...un...fair.”

00:00:00

[thevirtualcanvas]

Of touch and time

Mando x Reader [GN - for the time being]

Suitable for all. No TW.

It's been three weeks since Mando picked you up from your home world, scared and alone. How will things change going forward and just what is he doing with this small alien child?

The thrum of the engine had become a comfort, one of few in the weeks you'd spent aboard the Razor Crest. The other was the delightful sounds of the little green companion who'd found itself becoming your comfort and outlet as you dealt with the blows of grief from losing the last of your family. His, at least you thought it was a he, smiles and gurgles of  joy as he ambled around the deck after you and his adoptive father gave you a small glimmer of hope in a very uncertain time.

You had nothing to your name, bar the clothes on your back and the pulse rifle currently stored in the Mandalorian's personal armoury. Speaking of, he had been very – quiet. Not that he hadn't been before, but since rescuing you on Arbor there was an air of tension between you both, as though he couldn't quite decide what to do with you, and as such just left you to wander aimless and listless about the small, confines of his ship.

For three weeks you dragged your sorry self through the grief, incapable of making a decision for yourself. Left wondering which pitiful rock the Tin Man would leave you on. He never did, he simply parked the ship on an outer reach, left the child tucked away in the cubby and lingered on you with as though trying to say something, before leaving with a turn of his cloak and disappearing into the terrain. You mostly sat in the same spot, drowning in sallow thoughts and reliving those last moments, picking at your fingers, your borrowed tunic, anything to try and drag you away from that pained look on your Father's face as the Mandalorian coddled you onto his ship. Somewhere in the silence, the sound of a pressurised door would open, a guff of exertion and a small beige bundle would be at your feet, arms outstretched, begging to be picked up.

“C'mon then, little one. Let's see what we have let for you.”

You open the rations cooler, pulling out sticks of jerky for the little green alien to chew on enthusiastically as you rocked him against your hip. A little burp would indicate his fill and he would bury into your chest, snuggling into the smell of his dad's spare tunic. Soon, he would sleep, elongated ears twitching as he slept soundly and you would find a wall or a crate and lethargy would take over your body and you would sleep with the child bundled against you like he was the only thing keep you sane.

Boots clanking against the grate woke you. A rustle of metal and fabric. A tinny huff and the sight of Beskar roused you from your nap, the little one grumbled, pulled from his sleep against your breast.

“Welcome back.” You looked at him as you rose to your feet, shushing the child as the disturbance made him a little cranky. Something about the Mandalorian unnerved but also comforted you, you couldn't place it. There was an atmosphere, ironically. He a man of few and concise words; he seemed to have a lot to say, yet left them unsaid. Starting conversations with agitated huffs, heavy silence and direct instructions. And you, with one companion incapable of speaking common and the other unwilling, you lost the will to speak at all.

Mando nodded as he placed his rifle back in the armoury, and slung the pack from his back onto the nearest crate.  The child was awake completely now, chatting to his Dad from your arms as though the Mandalorian knew exactly what he was talking about.

“How has he been?” He asked, voice soft and laced with static through the vocoder. He reached for the little green alien, and took him from your arms, bundling him up against his own chest and giving him the once over as his bundle patted at the cool metal with animated hands.

You missed the warmth instantly. “Fine, he escaped within the first hour of your leave. He's eaten, I changed him and we've slept the rest of the time.”

A grunt of acknowledgement came from him as the visor tilted towards the pair of big watery eyes that demanded his attention. “And you?” He was looking at you now, you think, it was hard to tell but you had a sense of eyes on you. The tilt of the visor led you to believe he was concerned, as you attempted to decipher the armour clad man.

You grumbled to yourself, eyes hitting the deck. You weren't hungry, you never were anymore. “I'm fine.”

Mando moved the child onto one hip and reached into the rucksack; he pulled out a small box and handed it to you. “There was a Naboo baker in the bazaar.” As if that had explained everything. He waited for you to open the box, finding a bundle of bean buns, still warm to the touch. “You're not used to the rations, but you should eat something.”

The small action had shook you, here you were thinking the man was ready to jettison you out into the cold void of space and he'd thought of your grief enough to buy you a treat. You looked at box, decorated in blues and ribbons, and tried not to cry, an overwhelming sense of guilt and selfishness overcame you. The Mandalorian sidestepped you, ignoring the child's grabbing hands towards the baked goods. He made his way towards the cockpit, not caring about platitudes when he felt a tug on his cloak. He turned his helm to see you, hand balled tight into the coarse material, lips thinned and eyes cinched to keep the tears from betraying you. Your hand trembled, vying you to grab onto to some part of him, something that was human, calling out for some familiarity, and warmth.

“Thank you,” you managed, lip wobbling, knuckles white.

He waited, until you calmed, until you'd processed enough to let go of his cloak. “Eat,” he repeated with a soft rumble he saved for the child. “We set off into hyper-space in twenty. You'll need to be in your seat in fifteen.”

He disappeared up the rungs of the ladder, leaving you to your privacy and you ate all but two of the buns. Leaving one for the child, and one for him. A warm feeling flushed across your skin, not just from the tears but from this one small act of kindness and the hope it gave you.

-----

Two days later found you on a small planet a few hundred thousand miles away from Tattoine. Full of moisture farmers, scrap sellers, and the occasional Jawa scampering about the underbelly of the bazaar. The Mandalorian had dragged you out of the ship; well, he'd told you they were going out, threw a poncho in your direction and put the baby in a bandolier hidden by his cloak.

“Stay close,” he warned. There were no imps here, but a good variety of vagabonds, opportunists and slavers who would take one look at you and decide you were worth the credits to some warlord or senator. Both of which would use you for unspeakable purposes and the bounty hunter would much rather avoid that.

A man named Greef had sent him a tip about a scrap seller who'd come across some interesting pieces, swore they were Jedi, from Coruscant. But it was all strictly hush hush. The imps were fractured, but still strong, their ears and eyes still reached certain parts of the Galaxy beyond the reach of the New Republic. With one hand on his blaster and the other on the bandolier to keep the child quiet, Mando guided you through a back alley of sandstone buildings laced in scrap metal, tubes, rubber piping and electrical cabling from an era just settling into the dust. You were dubious to say the least, being the grandchild of a defected clone just about anything to do with the Jedi and the old Republic made your skin crawl. Your grandfather had shown you the faded scar at the base of his neck where the Jedi whom he'd served used the force to tear the chip from his skull. Saving both their lives long enough to escape Coruscant to go into hiding. Your grandmother would smack him across the back of the head playfully.

“You always embellish the story, my love. Don't be so dramatic. You make it sound like I was some naïve youngling bouldering through with force in tow. Ignore your grandfather, little one. The story changes every time he tells it.”

She would tease your cheeks, and potter off, watering her plants and reading her books, casting a loving look at the back of your grandfathers head each time she passed. He always looked so much older than her, despite the fact she was twice his age, their dynamic had always thrilled you.

“I don't like this,” you muttered pawing away at the happier time.

Mando agreed. “That's why I brought you. I need you to tell me if the artefacts are fakes.”

You both stood at heavy set door, settled in the shade as though the sun had forgotten it's existence. The child wriggled in his perch, something agitated him. Mando spoke in Mando'a, the words calmed you all, though he aimed it at the child. Once the little one was settled he rattled his fist against the door four times in bouts of two. A hollowing minute went by before the door peeked open. A beady eye looked at your party before opening up a few inches more, encouraging you over the threshold. A grizzled Toydarian greeted you, moss green and with fractured wings – it hobbled down a corridor leading you both with distaste.

The alien snorted, “This way, quickly.” They hurried on their short, stubby legs, leading you and the Mandalorian past a slew of doors, with maker-knows-what behind them. The sounds were overwhelming; a barrage of shouts in a myriad of tongues, bangs, sounds of blasters and screams seeped from under the gaps in the doors. You held your rifle in your hands, it would be useless, of course in such close contact, but it gave you a comfort and a blip of confidence.

You were led into a dome shaped room, a fire pit in the centre and pews decorated in plush linens and expensive hanging lights. Heavy plumes of incense hung thick in the air, designed to relax but it only served to set your nerves alight. In the centre sat another Toydarian, with a knowing smirk and swathed in jewels. They were no mere scrap merchants, of that you were certain.

“Mando,” you hissed, heart palpitating. Your hand tapped the back of his wrist, feeling a blossom of warmth through the back of his glove. For a moment you thought he would reciprocate, giving you the reassurance you so desperately needed, yet he stood fast. Helmet directed at their contact.

“Ah, Mandalorian. Good to see you, my friend. Please, come and take a seat.” The Toydarian leant back against the head of the pew, rings clinking against their spindly fingers, eyes watching from it's tilted head for your reaction.

Mando nodded, but made no movement forward. “Setu, it's been a long time.”

From your position behind your Tin Man you felt him relax at your touch, releasing some of the tension you both held. The situation was sketchy at best, but it wasn't the first nor last situation Mando would find himself in where danger was afoot.

The alien let out a croaked laugh and burst into a strained wet, cough. “Still don't trust me, eh, Mando? A man could be insulted.”

Mando let out a contemptuous sigh, “Good thing you're not a man, Setu.” He folded his arms above the child and eyed the alien down through his helm. “You said you had artefacts – so lets talk.”

-------

An exchange; a bounty for the Jedi artefacts, which you'd verified. A couple of scrolls and glass cube, a holocron. Your grandmother had one left over from when she abdicated the order. Why your Tin Man needed Jedi relics was beyond you, but it wasn't your place to ask. He led you back to the Razor Crest, handed you the baby and left with one instruction. Don't leave the ship. So, for two nights and days on a small planetoid with too many suns, you waited and you watched. One eye firmly on the child who had an unusual knack for disappearing among the crates, nooks and crannies and reappearing when he wanted feeding or comfort. The other on the the hatch, watching the metal creak and groan under the planet's heat, air shimmering as midday sun made temperatures aboard the Razor Crest soared.

On the first night alone with the child you were fearful, the tension palpable. It was the first time you'd been alone in a very long time. The cold night let your imagination run wild. Bounty hunters were waiting in the shadows of the parking deck. Empire elite were stood outside of the Razor Crest, blasters held high with smug grins under fierce helmets. The sounds of hull settling as the desert winds blew tricked your mind into believing salvers were canvassing the ship, looking for entry points. Sleep didn't come easy, but the child seemed undisturbed lulling into an easy slumber as the sun slipped from the sky. He, at least had faith in his Father's success. You watched his strange little face twitch in it's deep sleep, wrinkles moving softly as it's little mouth let out a tiny mewl. His tiny claws coiled around the blanket as he tussled in his dreams, the metal dome from the top of the thruster nestled under his chin.

“At least you're sleeping sound little one. Wonder if your Dad is doing the same.”

The second day was strained, you could hear the bustle of the ship yard. A cornucopia of races and creeds living and working as you stilled in time. You both watched quietly from the window, searching for a friendly familiar face but seeing nothing a but a sea of strangers. Which when you thought about it left a lot of room for irony. The face you were looking for, wasn't even a face at all. You had no idea what manner of man hid behind the Beskar. What his face looked like, or the colour of his skin. Were his eyes warm, or his mouth kind? How would his hair feel, did he have any? You could visualise in your head what you think he could look like, it made you feel safe, warm. One of his tunic's clung to your skin, his scent fading from the threads. You held it tightly against your form, caught in a spiral of want and loneliness. Grief and fear beckoned at your door, it was as dark as the void and thrumming in your veins.

Then light.

Three small, green fingers rested against your forearm, a tiny beacon of warmth and hope. Somehow the child had sensed your disposition. His large, dewy eyes squinted in concentration. A wave feel over you, cocooning you, wrapping you in a field of  metaphorical light. Your mood shifted as the child fell to his bottom with a huff of exhaustion. He let out a big yawn, his mouth stretched wide and he looked to you with a sleepy smile, arms grabbing for you.

You took his slight weight in your arms and cradled him, astounded and confused about what you'd felt. His pointed lobes flickered as he breathing slowed and he fell asleep once more. You padded to and fro in the cockpit as your thoughts coalesced. Just what was this kid and why did the Tin Man have to keep hiding him? He had certainly done something to you, what he'd done, you weren't sure. Your mind would drift to the mission, and how a bounty was being collected for old Jedi relics. Surely not? This little thing, a Jedi? You placed him into his cradle, and took a seat opposite watching him sleep. His little chest rise and fell in a soft metronome. The outside world fell apart as you focused surely on the bundle in silver. What power could one so small wield? And to be with a Mandalorian at that? Which was hilarious considering your heritage. A mere three decades ago and you would have killed on another on site, funny how the galaxy changed.

Blaster fire, a solemn smile and the distinct sound of metal against metal.

You woke up, the pressurised doors opening from the base of the ship catapulting you alert. It was the middle of the night and much cooler, goosebumps graced your bare forearms as the planet's suns had disappeared. In his cradle, the child slept still. Poor little tyke must have been exhausted. You sat, and listened to the sounds in the hull, waiting for something to appear up the ladders. Blaster in hand, pointed at the top rung, you waited. A cold shiver ran down your spine as you shook away at the fatigue that clawed at your mind. You held your breath as a foot hit the bottom rung of the ladder. You pushed yourself back against the Captain's chair as a second clang chased up to the cockpit. You heard a grunt from down below and could have screamed if your voice hadn't failed you.

The child awoke, smiling, waving a tiny hand at you as if waving good morning. He babbled conversationally and you tried to shush him the best you could, but he was already wriggling out of his blankets and making his way to his little feet.

A glimmer of something dark appeared at the top of the ladder. “You know, if I really was a raider, you'd be dead by now.”

The child let out a laugh, and you slumped into the chair, limbs going limp. “Mando...” you breathed a sigh of relief.

His head appeared, and the rest quickly followed. His fingers tapped quickly at the controller on his wrist and the lights of the console gave the Razor Crest enough light so he could see you both. He grunted a greeting and dropped his rifle against the back of one of the co-pilot seats along with the backpack he had hauled over his shoulder. As the strap of the bag wrapped around the back of the chair he winced, a pained hiss mottled by the vocoder.

You were on your feet instantly, inspecting him. Beskar was pocked with blaster burns, gunpowder and caked in blood and mud. “What happened to you?”

“ Mhm, m'fine. Just Setu's bounty.”

Your fingers hovered over the metal of his chest plate, fingers itching to rest themselves against it. “Did you get the bounty?” You asked, voice low, eyes scanning the damage.

A groan of pain crackled through the helmet. “Yeah, he was holed up in some caves outside of the city with a crew. Knew I was coming and put up a fight. It's fine. I have the artefacts.”

It's fine? Fine. No it bloody wasn't. He could have died, and  you would have been stranded with a magic kid and no idea on where to go next. He didn't even leave you with comms. You balled up your fingers and they wrung against the armour, a deft cling rang through the cockpit followed by the sounds of your wailing. “It's not fine! I had no idea where you'd gone, or if you were coming back! I kept thinking the Empire or some kriffing raiders would blow a whole in the hull every five minutes. It's not been fine since I was dragged from Arbor! My family is dead, my home is gone and then you left me too!!!”

He ignored the pain as you wailed against his chest, sure he'd been out in the wilds hunting down a rival gang for Setu. Leteron's were scrappy and resourceful little bastards, and with four arms meant they could carry three more blasters than him, but he managed – eventually. Beyond all of that, Din knew what it was like to be torn away from everything you'd ever known and forced to cope with a strange situation.  He could understand your plight. So he waited.

You crushed against him, feeling the cold beat of metal against your chest as your wrapped your arms around him. He had some height on you, so your head rested against the top of his shoulder, tears dripping into the thick cotton cloak. The sound of babbling came from your feet and you could feel his tiny fingers against your calf, like he was trying to hug you.

A sigh of frustration came from the Mandalorian, his kid always won in the end. “Fine,” he said looking down through his visor at the small mediator. “But no crying the next time I put you in the fresher.” You heard the small mewl of acknowledgement.

With uncertainty, Din wrapped both of his arms around you. Encasing you into a warmth you settled into your very soul. He was unsure, uncomfortable, but he bared it. He still remembered being carried and held as a boy, soaring into the sky, along with a member of the Death Watch. The warmth and compassion shown by the warriors that saved him, shaped him. He supposed you just needed the same. His thick gloves curled around the opposing shoulder and brought you closer. Sure, he smelt worse than a decomposing Rancor, but you didn't mind. Soon your wails curbed to hiccuped sobs, and trembling, you let go. Knowing that if you didn't soon, Mando might soon keel over. In a moment of uncharacteristic affection he cupped the back of your neck with a gloved hand, running his thumb along your jaw.

“Jate, udesla jii,” Good, calm now.

Electricity ran through you as he reached over you to pick the child up. You held your cheek where the leather had traced and found yourself clamouring for it all over again.

“Tin man?” He looked at you an nodded, child on his hip as took a seat in the Captain's chair. “Thank you, for rescuing me. I'm sorry I shouted.”

Mando shook his head, as the child patted the Beskar with growing concern. “It's fine. Can you get the bacti spray for me?” He groaned as the child tried splay his little fingers against the metal – what was the kid trying to do? “No,” he directed at the alien. “I'll use the stim, understand, adiik?”

You watched as the child sat, dejected on his Father's lap, the metal dome of the thruster tight in his little claws.

“Sure,” you said, looking at the bag containing the artefacts. “And what about the Jedi relics?”

“They're going to help me find his people.” He replied, again, as if his short answers solved anything.

Curiosity took the better of you, so you took a peek. Peeling back the tan lip of the bag, a soft glow filled the contents. You grabbed it with both hands, pulling back the hessian slip that encased it. In the palm of your hand sat the holocron cube, no bigger than the box your bean buns sat it. Except, this was different from a bakery box. Get a true look at it, you noticed it was glass, adorned in intricate gold and it lived. From the inside you could feel a wave, a humming of life and a big change. The box lifted from your hands, a soft blue glow emitting from the glass. You stood back, confused, watching it as it floated across the cockpit and landed into the hands of the child. His shiny dome forgotten about as this new object filled both of his tiny hands. The metal corners shifted, and the cube activated.

Everything was about to change.

[sundar2407]

BEST TRAVEL BACKPACK FOR WOMEN

Are you the guy who gonna rock this pandemic situation, then you are at a right place . I know you ae the one who loves travelling so that you are here .You have the confusion of how to plan your trips. Keep aside that confusion I have a better start of your planning.

Your key planning is start from picking a good backpacks. Because the better start will lead you to the joyful trips. On planning,  you must need some mandatory gadgets. On that list, backpack have the first place because without  backpack your travel will not begin.

 Your plan may be near , far, urban outdoors your backpack will be with your adventures. So you have to pick a light weight backpack shouldn't affect your backs and it must be stylish enough and attractive one.

Let me take your picking section of backpacks. I’ll guide you to pick best backpacks within just five minutes and also with the just single click. In  this blog I’ll share the best four travel backpacks for women in 2021 to pack you lighter and well organized. This will provide you a better flexibility while you travel.

I also add features of travel backpacks that you wanna pick, which will easify your carries.

why backpacks are crucial in travel?

Safety is my first concern - due to its light weight and compatibility you can able to keep that with you in your seat on buses.

while walking along the roads it will free up your hands rather than pulling a suitcase.

its easier to carry a backpack in bumpy cobblestone streets than suitcase.

The requirements such as,

It should be durable.

water resistant.

safety.

The material they made with.

Lots and lots of premium backpacks are available in the market today, on behalf of that products you have to choose the optimum product for your travel. I’ll direct you to choose the backpacks which of economically feasible ad durable. 

We’ve rounded up a few products that meet the important  requirements of backpacks. Here is my top 4 picks let have a look

 1. If you are planning for security risk areas then this will be opt pick for your trips. Here is my top pick is  AH Arctic Hunter

AH Arctic Hunter

FEATURES OF AH:

Easily expandable ferom 15L to 25l

Water resistant

Anti theft 

Fits upto 15,6 inch laptops 

 RFID pocket for cards which avoids radio frequencies and gives more safety to cards,

One Anti-theft secret pocket on the back to protect your valuable things

External USB charging & earphone port.

Comfortable airflow back design with thick but soft multi-panel ventilated padding, gives you maximum back support.

 Durable Fabric with concealed metal zippers.

Click here to check the price of AH

2. You the one who loves adventures and interested in trekking then here for you my second pick

  Wildcraft  Grey and Orange Rucksack (Large) :

Features of Wildcraft  Grey and Orange Rucksack:

This rucksack is made of nylon. So the durability will be quite high

           As we told above that as a trekkimg backpack its resistant to waters 

     dimensions: 56.8cms x 33.6 cms x 5.4 cms (LxWxH)

      Top loading pack with draw string opening for easy and quick access

    Strengthened haul loop to take on heavier loads

      Volume Capacity - 45 Liters

Click here to view the price of  Wildcraft  Grey and Orange Rucksack (Large) 

3. Here is my third pick which is comfortable to all trips,

American Tourister Crone 49 cms Grey Casual Backpack (FG8 (0) 08 205)

FEATURES OF AMERICAN TOURISTER’S CRONE:

The material they used here is polyester.·     

    Capacity: 29 liters; Weight: 430 grams; Dimensions: 32 cms x 19 cms x 49 cms (LxWxH).

  Number of compartments: 3

   They provide 1 year warranty from the date of purchase.

It’s also have mesh padding in the back which will give the superior comfort to your shoulders and leads to breathability.   

         Pockets on both sides to accommodate your bottle & umbrella.

      Mesh padding on back & shoulder straps for superior comfort and breathability.

Click here to purchase this  AMERICAN TOURISTER’S CRONE

4. This 45-liter Aristocrat Rucksack (Mojo) travel backpack has been around for a long time and was one the first travel packs my mom ever owned. With slight improvements year after year, this has turned into one of the best carry-on travel backpacks for women who want flexibility in their travels. It is incredibly versatile for all types of traveling and exploring.

Aristocrat 45 Ltrs Blue Rucksack (Mojo):

Salient features:

  Outer Material: Polyester superior durable.

 Color: Blue

  Capacity: 45 liters; Weight: 1000 grams; Dimensions: 36 cms x 24 cms x 60 cms (LxWxH).

  Number of compartments: 3

They are compatible with the laptop of size 17.

They also provide warranty od 1 tear from the date of purchase.

Their comforts are  adjustable shoulders waist straps 

Additional spacious utility pocket.

Click here to buy this comfy Aristocrat  Blue Rucksack (Mojo)

Disclaimer: Almost all posts on this site contain affiliate links, and this Guide to the Best Travel Backpack for Women is no different. This means that if you click on any of the links in this post (and make a purchase) I may receive a small commission at absolutely no cost to you. Each post is carefully crafted to (hopefully!) answer all your questions and recommendations are made where we believe they will improve your trip and help with your planning. As such we thank you in advance should you decide to click & buy.