#a dark storm on the horizon haloed by the sun

[mangooes]

Chapter 3 - Hope Is the thing of Feathers

Chapter 1 - The Moon and The Star

Chapter 2 - Heartbeats Strumming

I recommend listening to the song while reading this chapter! Enjoy^^

Hope is the thing of feathers - Robin, Hoyomix

The day passes by in a blink of an eye, the sky sets to orange indicating the change of time as the sun waves goodbye greeting the moon and the stars. Studying in class, went by in a blur for Robin as her mind lingers to the strange encounter with the boy behind her seat. Her heart thumped softly, the course of his action, his accent, his voice, his eyes that held a gentle look, and his touch… is all familiar to her. It's just she can’t pinpoint exactly when and how. 

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Robin packed her things and waved goodbye to her classmates. She glanced behind her, noticing Jinwoo had already left. Relieved yet strangely disappointed, she sighed and began walking home, the afternoon sun casting long shadows on the streets of Seoul.

She puts on her headphones, pressing the play button of an instrumental file as she begins her walk. As Robin made her way through the familiar paths, her mind drifted to the lyrics of the song she had been working on, the song she is currently humming to. Each note felt like it had come from somewhere deep within her, a distant echo of something long forgotten. “Let the clouds heal me of the stings…” she hums across the streets, failing to notice the presence of the boy that she met earlier. “Gently wipe the sorrow off my life…I-” before she could finish the lyrics, someone beat her to it. “I dream…” the boy continues as the girl turns to look at the source of the voice with wide eyes, stumbling down her path. “Hu-Whoa whoa!” Before she could hit the ground, a pair of strong arms caught her. The girl turned to look at her savior, recognizing his face.

The boy chuckled, “Clumsy much?” Robin turned to look away from the boy, embarrassed by the situation as the boy helped her take her balance. “Ah it’s you again, Jinwoo…How did you know? I never ever recalled releasing that song on any platforms.” the girl asked slowly. “Perhaps I've heard it somewhere, it’s a familiar tune after all.” Robin eyed Jinwoo before smiling gratefully as she offered, “Wanna walk home together?” Her request is replied with an instant yes as the boy walked side by side with the girl staring off into the sunset. Parting ways as the girl reached her home. 

That night, it was awfully quiet as the girl dreamed of a strange dream. A strange occurrence, like visions.  The world around her seemed to dissolve, replaced by something else—something like a different reality. Suddenly, she wasn’t in the confines of her bedroom anymore. She was standing in a vast, desolate battlefield. The sky was an unnatural purple, crackling with dark energy as if the heavens themselves were in turmoil. The ground was littered with broken weapons and the remnants of a great battle. Around her, the world trembled under the weight of an ongoing war that consumes humanity. And there she saw herself standing—Robin, but not quite. White dress as it shimmered with the light of the stars, her long hair flowing freely in the wind, a halo on her head and feathered wings on her ears. Her light green eyes glowed with a power that feels like peace, a lone song in the midst of a storm. She wasn’t just Robin, the high schooler and singer—she was something more. A being that held the essence of the wind, the freedom of a bird unchained, the emanator of harmony. 

Before her stood the boy from earlier Jinwoo, but he was dressed in something else, not any normal clothes. Instead black wisps covering his body, shaping into an armor . His eyes glowed with the same purple light, his form regal and powerful, surrounded by an army of shadow soldiers that stretched beyond the horizon. But his expression was not that of a powerful being in battle; it was filled with pain, loss, and desperate longing as he gazed at her. 

Behind them, towering figures loomed. The Monarchs, ancient beings of immense power, driven by destruction and chaos. Their very presence warped reality, threatening to engulf the world in death’s embrace, destroying everything in their path, ruling the world as its purpose. 

Robin could hear it, the chorus of their sinister voices, their power shaking the very air. She knew what was at stake, and at that moment she knew what had to be done. If they were not stopped, the world she loves and cherished as she knew it would be consumed. 

"I can stop them, Jinwoo," Robin said, her voice firm and confident, though it trembled with the weight of her decision. Jinwoo took a step forward, his hand reaching for her. "No!There must be another way. You don't have to—, not like this!” as he strokes his hand on her cheeks. 

"There is no other way," Robin interrupted softly, her eyes filled with affirmation, grief and determination as she held the hand in return. "You know that as well as I do. The power I possess... the Power of Harmony... it's the only thing that can disrupt their connection to this world, making it a weak spot for them. Alas a price has to be paid, in exchange for it." 

Jinwoo’s face twisted with pain and anger. "Not your life, I won’t let you sacrifice yourself for this." His shadows moved restlessly around him, as if responding to the storm of emotions swirling inside him. But the girl could only smile—a soft, bittersweet smile as if saying her goodbyes. "I’ve always been free, Jinwoo. Free like the wind, like a bird soaring in the sky.” the girl paused, as she turned facing away from the man. “But even the freest bird has a duty to protect the ones it loves, i love this world so much, i love you too much to not make this sacrifice Jinwoo…I’ll do what it takes,whatever the cost.." 

Her gaze locked with the Monarchs who loomed ahead. In her hand she summoned thousands of lyrical notes, melodies as she started to hum a tune. The manifestation of her power, the Voice of Harmony, the ability to bind all things together through song. It thrummed in her grasp, alive and ready to be unleashed. 

Jinwoo’s heart clenched in his chest as he realized her decision before his eyes. “No,” he whispered, stepping forward. “No, please… don’t do this.” 

"I am the song that will bind the heavens and earth," she whispered, her voice laced with both sadness and peace. "I am the bird that will no longer be caged, as i fight for this world. You have done enough Jinwoo, you’ve always been my protector, my shield in the darkness. But now it’s my turn to protect you… to protect everything.”

Her voice quivered slightly, but she didn’t falter. “Remember me, Jinwoo… not as the one who was caged, but as the bird that soared freely in the sky. My voice… it’s my gift to you.” She smiled sincerly as voices of harmony were spreaded across the world, creating a beautiful melody in peace. 

“Heads up, a steady rhythm. A destination that's ever near..It comes, stride to our kingdom and see the light of day!”

As she stepped forward, the ground beneath her feet shimmered. Her voice—pure and ethereal—began to rise into the air, a melody so haunting and beautiful that the world itself seemed to pause to listen.

“Heads up, the wheels are singing, The whispers and secrets they keep, To hope, we bound, whoa-whoa!” 

The Power of Harmony flowed through her, growing with each note, weaving through the chaos, pushing back the darkness. The Monarchs roared in anger, their forms trembling as her song pierced through their defenses. But the power Robin wielded wasn’t just a weapon. It was a sacrifice. She was pouring every ounce of her life force into the song, knowing that it would be her last. As she sang, feathers began to fall from the sky—white and delicate, like those of a bird finally set free, spreading her wings. 

“Break free, we chased our dreams..Beneath the starry night, In the face of God, we rose as one..” 

As she finishes her last performance, on the stage of her world… Robin’s gaze softened as she looked at her lover one last time with a single tear dropping from her light green eyes, accompanied with a smile that showed thousands of words.. “Promise me, that one day, we will meet again, in another lifetime.. alright? I love you, I love you so much Jinwoo.” 

Jinwoo clenched his fists, helpless as she began to vanish completely. His shadows writhed in anguish, powerless to stop what was happening. He could only watch as the love of his life—his star—faded into the light, leaving only the echo of her song.

And then, she was gone. Only a single white feather remained, slowly drifting to the ground..as he held on tight to that one lone feather.

HEY GUYS ASKJDANK such a long chapter l’m asdmasdsa I’ll update the acheron fanfic like tonight or tmrw SADKJAS ANYWAYSS AAAA hope u guys liked this one tho!

[fairyringsandwings]

Drabble gift for @anonymousmink, inspired by her beautiful mermaid AU! I'm sharing the story here too, so I ain't playing favs with the twitter girlies 😂

Tags: mermaid au, a little dark at the end, near drowning, rated T.

Across The Ocean

A storm is coming, Pirate.

Qimir smiles at the sound of her voice. Like a message in a bottle it has been carried to him through ocean currents, winds and tides.

Maybe this time you'll heed caution and stay on land, where you're supposed to be.

Are you worried? Qimir asks.

For you? No. The mess your ship will leave on the seabed? Yes. 

Then put an end to this and let me find you, Osha. 

She gives him no reply, but he can feel her irritation through their connection, how it prickles at her scales. She severs the connection with a huff. 

Where once the world had been silent as they communicated, now Qimir is flooded with sensations. The roar of the wind as it slaps against black sails. The waves, much rougher than before, breaking against the ship and rocking it with increasing wildness. The worried chatter of his crew as they scramble about the deck, securing everything not bolted down. 

Qimir hangs off the edge of the ship, one arm wrapped around the rigging. He opens his eyes, taking note of the ominous clouds darkening the horizon.

Osha had not lied, she never the did when it came to this. It is a salve on his aching soul, for it assures him that despite all her rejections, she does not want him dead. She flees from him, only because she knows that should they meet again - no, when they meet again - his silver tongue will lure her to his side, as surely as her voice had led sailors to their watery doom. 

But not me, Qimir thinks confidently. You could never bring yourself to do that to me, could you, Osha? 

Oh, she had certainly tried.

He remembers the day that he had corned his little mermaid in a lagoon at Olega. How in her desperation to escape she had sung a song so achingly sweet all of Qimir's reason and logic had fled his mind, pulling him into a dream that vanquished all the loneliness, the anger, and the hurt that festered in his heart. It had been utter bliss. A euphoric feeling that consumed him body and mind. 

His feet had moved of their own accord. His actions not his own. He had plunged from his ship, his lungs filling with salty water that burned, burned, burned.

Then it had stopped. Arms had slipped under his and pulled him from the ocean's deathly clutches. He remembers spewing water as he lay on his side on the sandy beach. He remembers coming to his senses, horrified when he realised what had happened... what had almost happened-

But then she was there. 

Osha. His Osha. Her webbed-fingers light on his forehead, pushing aside wet strands of hair. Her beautiful face stricken, guilt forming tears in her eyes. She had laid on the beach with him, her tail painted the color of emeralds and seaweeds, lying half-submerged in the low waters of the tide. Glistening pearls had been draped across her upper body, catching the sunlight. Woven into her long locs were colorful seaflowers, pieces of coral and sea-carved jewels.

In that moment, with water droplets clinging to her skin like diamonds, and the sun gleaming gold around her like a halo, she had been as ethereal as a Sea Goddess. Whether she would be his wreckoning or salvation, he was yet to learn.

"You need to stop chasing me, Pirate. Next time... I won't show mercy," Osha promises. 

"Liar," Qimir whispers, his chest heaving with every painful breath.

Osha shakes her head. Before he can regain his strength, she slips back into the waters, vanishing below the waves.

It has been months, nearly a year since he last saw her in the flesh. And now this storm will ensure he will have to endure another night bereft of her presence. He and his crew will need to make landfall, robbing him of even the simple company of the ocean, the closest thing he has to being with her.

There has been many storms these past few months. He wonders if it is Osha's doing, if she has sought a boon from an auld sea deity to make his quest as difficult as possible. Grimmer still, what if it is the ocean herself, trying to keep them apart? Wanting nothing more than to tear his ship asunder and toss his body into its depth, food for its children of the deep.

That might not be the worse fate, Qimir thinks with dark amusement.

Osha could find his skeleton then, and make a pretty trinket to wear around her neck. At least then they could be together. His bones comforted by the beating of her hearts.

[numberonenat]

i asked chat gpt to make a playlist based on each one of the obey me characters…

>> PART 2!!! <<

here's part 1 and 3: the brothers / the side characters

diavolo:

"kings and queens" by 30 seconds to mars

"hail to the king" by avenged sevenfold

"demons" by imagine dragons

"hall of fame" by the script ft. will.i.am

"power" by kanye west

"emperor's new clothes" by panic! at the disco

"my songs know what you did in the dark (light em up)" by fall out boy

"radioactive" by imagine dragons

"glory and gore" by lorde

"god's gonna cut you down" by johnny cash

"believer" by imagine dragons

"throne" by bring me the horizon

"can't hold us" by macklemore & ryan lewis ft. ray dalton

"sail" by AWOLNATION

"the man" by taylor swift

barbatos:

"smooth operator" by sade

"uptown funk" by mark ronson ft. bruno mars

"one more time" by daft punk

"careless whisper" by george michael

"every breath you take" by the police

"superstition" by stevie wonder

"fly me to the moon" by frank sinatra

"feeling good" by michael bublé

"just the two of us" by bill withers ft. grover washington jr.

"easy" by lionel richie

"can't stop the feeling!" by justin timberlake

"i want to hold your hand" by the beatles

"smooth" by santana ft. rob thomas

"i will always love you" by whitney houston

"at last" by etta james

solomon:

"imagine" by john lennon

"bohemian rhapsody" by queen

"wish you were here" by pink floyd

"stairway to heaven" by led zeppelin

"magic" by coldplay

"karma police" by radiohead

"black magic woman" by santana

"time" by pink floyd

"riders on the storm" by the doors

"lucy in the sky with diamonds" by the beatles

"i put a spell on you" by nina simone

"paint it black" by the rolling stones

"losing my religion" by R.E.M.

"sultans of swing" by dire straits

"sympathy for the devil" by the rolling stones

simeon:

"angels" by robbie williams

"halo" by beyoncé

"you raise me up" by josh groban

"i will always love you" by whitney houston

"lean on me" by bill Withers

"un-break my heart" by toni braxton

"wind beneath my wings" by bette midler

"in the arms of an angel" by sarah mclachlan

"true colors" by cyndi lauper

"hero" by mariah carey

"i believe i can fly" by r. kelly

"heaven" by bryan adams

"a thousand years" by christina perri

"you're beautiful" by james blunt

"i can see clearly now" by johnny nash

luke:

"pocketful of sunshine" by natasha bedingfield

"here comes the sun" by the beatles

"walking on sunshine" by katrina and the waves

"happy" by pharrell williams

"rainbow connection" by kermit the frog

"ain't no mountain high enough" by marvin gaye & tammi terrell

"all star" by smash mouth

"don't worry, be happy" by bobby mcferrin

"three little birds" by bob marley & the wailers

"i just can't wait to be king" from the lion king

"best day of my life" by american authors

"count on me" by bruno mars

"i'm yours" by jason mraz

"walking on air" by katy perry

"sing" by pentatonix

barbatos with michael bublé, frank sinatra and george michael is a vibe honestly lol BUT THEN THERES THE JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE TROLLS SONG WTF LMAO

i love doing this is so funny

i'm probably doing a part 3 !!!

[todderwodders]

OCS AS OBSCURE REFERENCES

I got tagged by @nullshocked and I am Insane so I will be doing The Urge, Faline, and Fresca

THE URGE

ANIMAL: Wolf

COLORS: Black, white, pink, and red.

MONTH: November

SONGS:

NUMBER: 24

PLANTS: Foxglove & roses

SMELLS: Hickory, cloves, freshly cleaned leather

GEMSTONE: Ruby

TIME OF DAY: High Noon

SEASON: Autumn

PLACES: Wind filled meadows with dogs baying in the distance - abandoned houses that creak and ache with the longing to be filled - streets filled with mist thick enough to drench one to the bone

FOOD: Hard cheeses, dark breads, cherries

DRINKS: Cherry wine, black tea

ELEMENT: Water

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Gemini

SEASONINGS: Cumin, Coriander

SKY: Clear winter skies at night

WEATHER: Lightly overcast, no wind - the calm before the storm

MAGICAL POWER: Invisibility

WEAPONS: Dagger, short sword

SOCIAL MEDIA: Modern AU Urge voice, blatantly scrolling Instagram: I don’t have a phone

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Lip balm

CANDY: Caramels

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: Horseback, walking

ART STYLE: Inks and Charcoal

FEAR: Loneliness

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Literally a changeling. Hera.

PIECE OF STATIONARY: Wax seal

THREE EMOJIS: 💕🥰🗡️

CELESTIAL BODY: Mercury

FALINE

ANIMAL: Cat

COLORS: Blue, red, pink, cream

MONTH: February

SONGS:

NUMBER: 12

PLANTS: Queen Ann’s lace & roses

SMELLS: Sandalwood incense

GEMSTONE: Cat’s eye

TIME OF DAY: Twilight

SEASON: Spring

PLACES: A rooftop on a summer’s night - fat flakes of winter on a black, blue night - mist filled mornings with the golden halo of the sun peaking over the horizon

FOOD: Fruit - pomegranates, grapes, plums, peaches

DRINKS: White wine, black coffee

ELEMENT: Water

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Aquarius

SEASONINGS: Pepper, rosemary

SKY: A clear, star filled night

WEATHER: Breezy, warm, humid summer

MAGICAL POWER: Teleporting

WEAPONS: Daggers

SOCIAL MEDIA: Instagram, Tumblr

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Eyeliner

CANDY: Rock Candy

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: Carriage, walking

ART STYLE: Impressionist

FEAR: Failure

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Kitsune

PIECE OF STATIONARY: quill pen, a blank page

THREE EMOJIS: 💖💋🦋

CELESTIAL BODY: Venus

Fresca

ANIMAL: domestic tabby cat

COLORS: pink, cream, grey, green

MONTH: January

SONGS:

PLANTS: Petunias

SMELLS: Rosemary,

GEMSTONE: Sapphire, jade

TIME OF DAY: afternoon

SEASON: Winter

PLACES: sleepy little islands with mists covering sleepy little villages, ocean meeting a cloud grey night, hot summer afternoons

FOOD: fruit jam, red wine, delicately sliced cold meats

DRINKS: ale

ELEMENT: Air

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Capricorn

SEASONINGS: Sage, parsley

SKY: grey morning clouds

WEATHER: clouds hanging heavy

MAGICAL POWER: Invisibility

WEAPONS: Daggers

SOCIAL MEDIA: -with loathing- instagram

MAKEUP PRODUCT: Moisturizer

CANDY: Candy apples

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: horse, walking

ART STYLE: classical, realism

FEAR: Stasis

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Banshee

PIECE OF STATIONARY: wax, ready to be melted

THREE EMOJIS: 😐🦋🤨

CELESTIAL BODY: Uranus

[too-lit-for-fanfic]

Desiderium - Callosity

Part I of ?

Masterlist

Part II

* A lack of feeling, an emptiness of being. Felt in the aftermath of a great tragedy. *

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Disclaimer - DNI if under the age of 18. This is a dark and mature story involving themes of torture, substance abuse, addiction, trauma, PTSD, injury detail 

Not all of these will be present in each part of the story, but the warning still applies. Sorry for the long wait, we all have approaching exams so there won’t be any updates this month. This story will follow canon as much as possible, but there will be some deviations to make the relationship between Obi wan and the main character as realistic as possible. Please remember, the characters are written realistically, not just to be liked.

Word Count - 12K

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A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, thousands of voices cried out, a cacophony of terror echoing across the galaxy until silence swathed the universe. The silence enveloped every known corner of the galaxy, the dead and dying left in its wake, their voices and cries lost to the growing emptiness left after destruction of an age and the birth of a new era, the birth of a new Empire. A galaxy once bustling with life now lay baron and destitute, the remnants of a bygone era scattered across the galaxy and hidden for their own safety under the constant threat and the watchful eye of the new Empire.

The known galaxy lies festering in the wake of a new dark age, teetering towards an age of no return. Those left, themselves becoming cruel and ruthless to survive in such an age, neighbour turning on neighbour, husband turning on wife, sister turning on brother, the eyes of the empire inhabiting every crack and crevice artfully carved into all strongholds of refuge of the bygone age. 

A remnant of the bygone era glowered at Aeris, beads of sweat dripping down the retired Clone Trooper’s weathered face as her gloved finger pressed tightly on the trigger of her blaster, aimed directly at the older mans head, the muscles in her hand twitching with the restraint to not pull the trigger.

“I’m not one for killing war veterans.” Sand whipped up at the pair, battering their clothes and skin like millions of shards of glass, yet the gales that buffeted against them offered no relief from the overbearing sun, of which Aeris could feel the exposed skin on her extended arm burning under its ferocity. “But you won’t be the first.”

“And I won’t be the last.” The man called back, shouting over the gales of the tempest he had tried to flee into, and now found himself trapped in. His voice was hoarse but firm, carrying over the roar of the sands with well-versed practice gained from years of experience on the cruelest battlefields seen in an age. A general without an army, a soldier without a cause, a man whose purpose died with the fall of the Jedi order. He struggled to form words with his parched mouth, his lips cracking and bleeding with every twist of his tongue. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll go without a fight. You’ll have to kill me.” He paused, his overgrown dark locks, speckled with more grey and white than colour whipping into his face and eyes as he glowered at the young woman before him, both hands clasped around the worn grip of a rusted blaster. “You’re young, you have time - take another bounty, don't make me kill you.”

“Bargaining?” Her voice lilted with mockery, disappointed disbelief carried on a raspy tune. Sand continued to whip into the thick air, the Clone Trooper squinting as her dark halo flittered through the fog. “Coward.”

And then she was gone. 

The Clone Trooper spun on his heel, blaster and eyes scouring the horizon for a dark shadow amongst the crimson gusts of sand, chocking the air and blinding the sun. The deafening thrum of blood pumping through his veins and the battering of his heart against his chest rose to a paralysing crescendo as his eyes flitted across the horizon, the bounty hunter hidden within the storm. His breaths came erratic and shallow, gulping as much sand as oxygen as terror clawed at his chest and throat, beads of sweat trailing along his stained and dirtied brow. A bolt darts aimlessly into the storm, illuminating the crimson air and sand with a shock of blue before disappearing into the distance. His weathered knuckles turn white against the hilt of the blaster, palms slick with sweat. He steps back, and again, and again, sand pooling around his ankles and filling his boots.

“You think yourself a hero?” He calls scornfully into the hazy abyss, yelling to the wind. “Fight me with honour! Not deaf and blind!”

Something startles him to his left and he fires blindly, breaths choked and laboured, sweat-soaked hair falling into his stinging eyes. 

A hand reaches from the darkness, thin and pale, clasping his shoulder and wrenching him back as a leg sweeps his feet from under him. The man screeches, firing blindly as he tumbles, more focussed on fending off an attack than catching his fall. He scrambles to stand, blaster aiming wildly. He sees the bolt before he feels it, the thick air around him illuminated by a brilliant blue before a searing pain tears through his left knee and calf, the smell of scorched flesh filling his nose before he hit the floor. He screams and flails, dirtied hands clasping at his ruined knee as a dark figure materialises above him, head tilted forward, empty red-rimmed eyes gazing down at him. They flicker to the discarded blaster by his side. 

“I’m not here to make you a martyr.” She mocks lowly, stepping over the writhing man’s thin frame and kicking his blaster into the hazed distance with a lazy sweep of her right leg. Some sand kicks into his eyes with the effort, and he groans at the familiar sting.

“No, no, that is reserved for heroes.” She crouches low, blocking the white-hot sun as her shadow casts across his face, her short dark locks dance around her features, buffeted by the hot wind and sharp sand. The lines of age around the Trooper’s umber eyes deepen with every wince and grimace, squinting up at her figure. “And you?” A gloved hand raps against the yellow pauldron on his right shoulder before returning to binding a wire around his wrists “You may be a veteran, but you are far from a hero.”

“So now what?” The man struggles as she hauls him to his feet by the scruff of his tattered jacket, his feet sliding uselessly against the loose sand, hands pulling taught against his binds. “Bury me out here? Not a soul to know of what happened to me? I bet you’ve done this more times than you can count you bantha-riding-”

A sharp shove in the centre of his lower back nearly sends the ex-trooper hurtling down the dunes below as he yelps and scrambles, bound and bloody hands grasping at the air uselessly. 

A firm grip on his bicep hauls him back into place, the firmness of the bounty hunter’s grip surely to leave a bruise, if he were to live long enough. “Your insults are wasted on me - I’m here to collect a payment, nothing more, nothing less. Any damage to my precious cargo reduces my pay.”

He refuses to take another step forward, leaning back against her gloved hand on his right shoulder, brows nit together as he desperately thinks of a way to flee, even despite his bound hands and ruined leg. Aeris sighs deeply, jamming her charged blaster into the small of the man’s back, the cold metal barrel causing goose bumps to raise on the back of his sweat-soaked neck.  “But a delivery of cargo, no matter how broken, is better than no delivery at all.” Her covered features are mere inches from the trooper’s ear, her silvery voice slicing through the roaring of the dunes, hissing a venomous promise matching the coolness of the blaster’s hilt. He swallows despite the itching dryness of his throat. 

He takes a faltering step forward, and a mocking hum falls from her concealed lips. 

“You fucking scum-”

“Save your breath.” She kicks the heel of his injured leg, silencing him with a yelp as he stumbles forward. “You’ll be needing it to beg for mercy soon enough. Best not waste it on insulting me.” 

The pair trudged their way through the chocking sandstorm, Aeris’ blaster indignantly pressed into the small of her bounty’s back the entire journey, index finger lazily resting against the trigger. An eternity later, the pair leave the harrowing storm behind them, raging on in the bowls of the endless desert. Though seemingly a blessing, the air and their throats no longer clogged with dust and their eyes no longer scraped by millions of shards of glass, there was no longer any protection from the sun. It hung white-hot and searing in a cloudless vastness, an endless white heat against an even paler sky. 

The sand that had once beat against them ceaselessly clung to their slim frames and cotton clothes, staining their skin sanguine and the Troop’s white armour a scorched pale pink. Sweat trickled down Aeris’ neck, her dark clothes attracting the heat like fruit-flies to a bruised apple. She tugged uncomfortably at her collar, slicked to her neck with sweat and licked her lips with a parched tongue, only tasting salt and sand. During the long journey she had toyed with the idea of just shooting the trooper and leaving him to the vastness of the desert, his limping and groaning prolonging the journey and brooding an agitated headache at her temples - the slowness was infuriating, the heat was maddening, the fact she could have been in the cool confines of her ship, chasing a bounty on a far cooler planet was incensing. She glared emptily at the back of his head, his sand-caked hair swishing with every step, promises of food and fortune keeping her finger from pulling the trigger. Aeris watched crimson droplets disappear into the crimson sand.

The horizon rippled in the distance, the town they searched for seemingly further and further with each laboured step. The Trooper panted and gasped, one hand clutching at his thigh in a weak attempt to quell the rippling pain as the other dragged along his forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow. Fleeing into the desert had seemed like a favourable idea at the time, he had neglected to consider the journey back. Though infuriated by the journey, and the cocky bounty-hunter with their blaster burrowed into his back, at least he knew she was as miserable as him, and that felt like some sort of win. 

Civilisation was close, small sandstone and wooden sun-bleached shacks rising in an unsteady haze in the distance, small dark silhouettes flitted from building to building. The Trooper eyed some grotesque four-legged creature drinking from a sandstone trough, poorly roped to a large rotten wooden beam buried into the sand. He watched the water splash from the gully with sunken eyes, half-considering joining the beast just to quell the retched dryness of his throat. Aeris followed his gaze with her own, tilting her head at the creature, smirking to herself, and pushing the man along. The pair continued on the dirt-path, the locals eyeing the newcomers from beneath peaked hoods and floppy broad-rimmed hats - upon noticing the blaster attached to Aeris’s hip, and the other held languidly in her hand, the crowds dispersed, retreating to the cool confines of their squatted homes. 

“You should’ve dressed like them.” Aeris jokes disdainfully, catching the eyes of a young girl peering from an empty doorway, cream and white cloth, stained by the crimson sand, wrapped around her thin tan frame like a bandage. “Changed out of this ridiculous gear - who still wears pre-Empirial uniforms anyway?” She knocks the hilt of her blaster against his pauldron to emphasise her point. 

“Not all of us have the money to simply buy other clothes.” He rasps, face pinching into a sour expression, fury bubbling under the surface - he had already been caught, the last thing he wanted to hear was how he could have hid better. “Not all of us are willing to hunt and kill the innocent to gain a few coins.”

Aeris’ chokes at the irony, a disbelieving laugh heaving her chest as her mouth twists into a cynical smile. “Says the one who destroyed the Jedi.” She forces him to turn left down a shadowed alley. “Such a shame all those younglings weren’t innocent enough for you.”

“That was different.”

“I kill criminals, you murdered sleeping children, and yet you preach to me?”

“You question the Empire?” He sounds scornful, like an elder aghast at the ways of the young. 

“The Republic was tired and worn, the Empire is murderous and cruel - I like neither, but I prefer the lesser of two evils.”

He goes to retort, brows furrowed and head turning, but the blaster raising to the nape of his neck silences him. “Shut it. Your self-righteousness makes my head ache, and it’s becoming far too tempting to shoot you.”

Aeris guides her bounty through the narrowing streets of the small town, a hand clasped firmly against his shoulder forcing him wherever she wished, his useless leg struggling to keep pace with her long strides, dragging through the sand. The shade the many alley’s provided was a brief reprieve from the sizzling heat, but the air remained warm and thick, their clothes and hair sticking to their sweat-slicked bodies. 

“Stay.” The dark haired woman shoves the Trooper harshly against a sandstone wall, pointing purposefully at his feet. His hands slide against the rough wall, propping himself against the sturdy structure. He turns indignantly, biting the inside of his cheek to refrain from speaking. 

Aeris’ focus had already turned to the wooden slat door before her, rasping a pattern against the door, its whole frame shaking with each knock. The slat slides into the left-hand wall, disturbingly intense large black eyes glinting from the shadows peaked around the doorway, a cloth-wrapped hand gripping the slat’s side. Aeris’ glassy amber eyes focus on the shadowed figure, bright and attentive yet unimpressed. The figure didn’t speak. Aeris’ right eyebrow raised.

“Camber! What the fuck are you doing staring out the door?!” A gravelly voice echoed from somewhere behind the beady eyes.

“There’s a red woman at the door.” The apparently young child responds, still shaded and mostly hidden behind the makeshift door. “With a blaster.” A pause. “And a man.”

Suddenly the door is wrenched open by significantly more aged hands, the piece of wood shaking comically in its sheath in the wall. An old man, dressed similarly to the young boy in white and cream cloth, sends an attempted welcoming smile in Aeris’ direction, hands clasping the young boy by either shoulder. 

“My apologies Ms Aeris, the boy is still learning his manners. Especially those towards our most valued guests.” His grip on the boys shoulders tighten as the young woman watches with bored eyes, use to the fake pleasantry and more concerned with escaping the heat. “Please come in, your friend as well.” He beckons her in with a bony hand, and as she retrieves the Trooper, guiding him by his bound wrists into the small abode, she can hear the old man scolding the boy in another room, accompanied by the familiar smack of wood against skin. 

The centre room was dark and squat, the ceiling low and draped in tapestry and sheets, the same thin cotton hung across every window to provide some relief from the hot air outside. Three narrow doorways had been carved into the sandstone walls of the room, separated by more sheets of cheap cotton, and the floor resembled the crimson sand outside, only compacted through use and firmed with age. In the centre sat a wooden table accompanied by wooden chairs, all sun-bleached and poorly crafted, cracked and flaking, and a torn rug with another smaller table and an equally ill-constructed bench sat at the furthest point of the room, left over berries and grains in woven baskets abandoned in the corner upon the pairs’ arrival.

Aeris forces the trooper into a wooden seat and ensures his hands are in sight above the table before she takes her own seat. She sighs in relief as she tugs a black cloth from her face, breathing in the cool air deeply through her mouth and nose, rolling her feet inside her thick shoes, tingling with the relief of finally sitting down, completely basking in the coolness the shade provides. The old man emerges not a moment later, a stick of poorly shaped wood serving as a cane as he hurries toward the centre table where Aeris had already sat, the Trooper next to her, bound hands flat against the wooden table. 

“I see the sandstorm wasn’t kind to you.” He half jests, wooden cane motioning towards the red that stained her skin.

“Sand is never kind.” She remarks back, a hand dragging through her dark locks, roughly shaking some sand free.

“I apologise again,” He mutters as he eases himself into his own seat, the wood creaking under his thin frame. “he is young and still learning - terrible memory for our ‘important visitors’ does not help things.”

“Nothing to apologise for, we all have to learn.” She leans back in her chair, arm resting against its back and legs crossed languidly, left ankle on her right knee. “I’m guessing a grandson of yours? He wasn’t here when I arrived.” Aeris starts conversationally, always one to ensure good relations to those she might further need.

“Yes, he was visiting family in the town over. Seems to have forgotten all his training while away.” The old man mutters bitterly, but a fondness remains in his wrinkled features, pale and streaked from years of sun damage. 

“There’s plenty of time for this sort of thing.” The brunette waves her hand around the room dismissively, finally motioning to herself. “He seems only young-” The boy emerges from a room, eyes puffy, with a tray of cups, a jug full of sand-coloured water, and a small pot of steaming tea. Aeris offers a gentle smile. “-and a fine little helper.”

“Eight this year.” The man takes a glass from the boy, and motions him towards their visitors. “I’ll make a useful man out of him yet- discipline is key, best to start when they’re young.”

The boy shuffles over cautiously, holding out the tray from which Aeris and the Trooper both take a glass of water. As she reaches for her own glass, Aeris’ gaze flits over the boy - he was thin, alarmingly so, swathed in cloth far too big for his small stature and height, his cheeks, one bruised, still held onto his puppy-fat, and his hair matched the darkness and richness of his wide eyes, hanging in thick curls around his pale face. She attempts to smile at the boy, though the thin pale scar that ran through the right side of her mouth may have made it resemble more of a grimace.

“Thank you, Camber.” At the use of his name, appearing shocked at her remembering it, the young boy scuttles back to his grandfather, standing shyly and rosy-cheeked behind his chair, large eyes barely peaking over his shoulder. 

“Now, I assume you haven’t travelled all this way just to trade pleasantries. I take it you’re ready to leave?” The old man sips from his drink as he talks, eyeing the Trooper warily. The Trooper gulps from his own glass like a man dying of thirst, but his own dark coppery gaze still watches the exchange between his captor and whoever this man was. 

“Yes.” Aeris places her glass down, now empty, a hand coming to grasp the Trooper by the hair on the nape of his neck, forcing him to stop drinking and tilt his head back, standing and forcing him to raise from his own seat. “As usual, you may take anything from the cargo you wish-” She pauses, as if remembering, hand still tugging painfully at his hair as she drags him back into his seat. “No body parts this time,” The Trooper lurches in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. “special requirement, I’ve got to keep him in the best shape possible.”

“I’m not cargo-” He begins, but a purposeful knock of her right knee against his injured knee has him hissing and silent.

“The armour - the pauldron and the kamas. Shame he hasn't got more but it’ll do.”

“Coverage of full price?”

“Coverage of full price.” He agrees, extending a hand which she shakes firmly. She was well aware that the price of just those two pieces of armour far surpassed the general price of storage, but she was more than happy to oblige, especially given leniency with past short-payments - sometimes loot was favourable, sometimes less so. Besides, she’d make more credits from his delivery alone, no need to be greedy.

After a few more moments of idle chat, the pair, Aeris dragging the Trooper along by his bound hands that had now become chafed and bloody, followed their host into a backroom, where he opened a wooden latch in the floor, a tunnel carved into the sandstone leading into a shadowed cavern. The old man heads down first, scuttling down the rickety ladder with ease, Aeris and the Trooper leaning over the hole, watching a small flickering fire-light appear in its depths. 

“You next.” She nudges her cargo towards the tunnel. “What? Get moving.” “You’re not going to untie my hands? I need them.” “Make it work.” A firm hand on his shoulder has him reluctantly backing into the tunnel, brow furrowed in concentration and jaw tense. After a few moments of silence the brunette descends the ladder, appearing in a low tunnel with pale fluorescent lights tied to the ceiling. The old man holds a small oil-lamp, combatting the dimness. The hand-crafted tunnel is long and dim, cool still air causing goosebumps to raise on Aeris’ sweat-sticky skin, the familiar scent of damp sand enveloping the corridor. After a few minutes of silent walking the trio emerge into a large natural cavern, sunlight from the mouth of the rocky ravine casting against the back wall, the trio, and the contents of the cavern, hidden by its twisted cave-dotted entrance. Boxes of indiscernible building materials and supplies lay scattered about the dark ravine, most covered by a thick layer of orange dust, parts of old fighter ships and carrier vessels half-dismantled piled up against every wall. In the centre sat a small angular U-wing starfighter with faded dark green markings on its main body and wings. Like the rest of the ravine, a thick layer of orange dust had settled across its frame. 

“She looks better.” Aeris notes happily, abandoning the two men to admire her ship, exposed fingers and gloved palm sliding along its right side. Her square shoulders drop with relief, some of the tension she always carried easing with the familiarity of home.

“Good as new.” The old man remarks, placing his small lamp on a nearby crate. “Repairs were minimal, the damage was mostly aesthetic, luckily.” Aeris nods along, amber eyes scrutinising his handiwork, delighted, but not surprised, to see even the smallest scuffs having been repaired. “No more battering this poor thing - I’m good at my job, I’m not a miracle worker.”

“Elliejil,” She almost scoffs, and it takes the Trooper a minute to realise that jarbled rubbish was the damn old man’s name. “are you insinuating I don’t take care of my ship?”

“What the fuck are you even doing with that thing, do you have any idea how many repairs I had to make? I had to replace the inlet valve! Do you have any idea how hard that is to damage?!” He jests good-naturedly, but a seriousness overlaps his tone. “Stop hurtling into whatever fight you see. You’re a valued customer, whose coin I would miss dearly.” He points a shrivelled hand in her direction, before gesturing more angrily towards the ship. “And though your expectations flatter me, I am not a miracle worker.”

Within minutes the ship is fully loaded, Elliejil offering a small bag of dried fruits as a good-will gift until their next arrangement, and the Trooper, now stripped of his little armour, is cuffed to a seat in the ship’s small lobby, left eyeing a deceptively inconspicuous bag on a metallic table to his left. Aeris stands at the entrance to the ship, a small purse of credits in hand. She throws it towards Elliejil, meeting his weathered gaze with a slight nod. “To the deaf.”

He grins, though there was no need for the code amongst the pair, he echoed its response. “To the blind.”

---

The galaxy streamed past the windshield of the agile U-Wing in ribbons of white, lighting the small cockpit with a familiar pale glow. The galaxy was quiet, as always, with only the whirring of the engine and the cockpits internal mechanisms beeping in cadence filling the still silence. Aeris sat comfortably in the pilot’s chair, one leg resting on an unimportant piece of the console and the other bent under herself, the lights of the galaxy reflecting in her wide gaze, as she sat quietly, as she often did, watching stars and planets and entire galaxy’s glimmer past. 

The U-wing is a small and agile ship, utilised by resistance members as both a transport shuttle and fighter ship during periods of conflict, though neither as large as a Frigate or as fast as an X-wing. Aeris’ U-wing was worn and weathered, its leather seats fraying, its console scratched and faded, but it felt like home. Souveniers and, by all means, junk, lay strewn across the entire ship, hung from any exposed wiring or rivets and crammed onto divots of the metal-sheathed walls, causing the patchy steelwork to appear more as purposeful shelfs and cubby-holes than damage that had never been repaired. A table and worn booth had been fixed into the centre of the ship’s hull that in typical star fighters remained empty for more floor space for cargo or troops - Aeris had sacrificed the space in a tactical decision of comfort and the fact she had only ever dealt with, at maximum, three bounty’s at a time. On the far back wall of the lobby sat her makeshift bedroom. A layer of old blankets and a tattered pillow lay atop the circular inlet of the circular door leading to the reactor power plant at the furthermost back of the ship. It was neither comfortable nor lavish, but a sheet hung across the back wall of the hull gave the small cubby a sense of security and privacy she found invaluable. 

It had been several hours since the ships departure from Abafar, a desolate, unassuming planet at one of the furthest points of the outer-rim, and Aeris had settled into a state of near-peace, her head fully rested against the beaten head-rest of her seat, her aching and tense shoulders sloping with the ease of being back home, her domain - she manned the ship, out here, in the vastness of the galaxy, she was in control, with immense power rumbling just beneath her fingertips, the steady comforting thrum of the power reactor offering a sense of calm she could not last recall. However, unlike usual, she was not alone, her eyebrows knitting together in mounting frustration at another groan and shuffle from the main hull, her bounty becoming more and more restless throughout the journey. Her eyes wonder back to the starry sky before her but a resonating clang from the hull has her springing from her seat, right hand clasping the blaster at her hip as she turns to the ship’s main compartment, hidden from the cockpit by a raggedy cloth draped from the rafters of the ceiling to offer some privacy. 

Flinging the cloth to the side she steps down into the main hull, her heavy boots clanging against the thin metal floor as her eyes land on the hunched trooper, strewn in a heap on the floor, right wrist still cuffed and arm twisted at an unseemly angle. The Trooper stiffens, wide eyes glaring up at her towering figure illuminated in the entryway, the new pain blossoming in his arm all but forgotten at seeing her figure looming close, his breath dying in his throat. A few tense beats of silence pass. 

“You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

The Trooper almost chokes as she takes a step forward, her dark eyes surveying the growing pool of dark blood covering both the seat and floor, a steady stream of crimson flowing from his knee, newly aggravated with his tumble. He attempts to raise back onto his seat, good leg shaking with the effort to hoist himself back up, but every twist caused more painful pangs across his shoulder and chest, hand numbing with the increasing pain. He grimaces, wide eyes staring up at the young woman’s figure, a poor swamp-rat caught in a hunter’s trap.

Aeris leans down, dark locks falling into her face, and he freezes, flinching away from the woman as she encroaches, the sound of blood pumping through his veins drowning out all rational thought as a hand grips his twisted shoulder. Fuck. Why couldn’t he just sit still - what did he think he was going to do? Get free? Then what? Stupid, fucking-

Click.

The cuff binding him to the seat falls away, his arm springing free to be cradled to his chest as Aeris returns to her full height. She watches with a flat gaze, looping the binding back onto its secure place on her belt. With startling ease she hoists the man back onto his assigned seat with her free arm, eyes once again flitting down to the pool of crimson now encircling her own shoes, raising back to the man with nothing short of disdain. 

“Stay.” Her grip on his jacket fades, slender hand hanging limp, yet ready, at her side.

His head tilts as she turns to a nearby shelf, not bothering to rebind him. His gaze flits to an empty bottle strewn next to the table, well within reach. He clears his throat subtly, wide gaze flitting back to the other figure in the room, landing on the blasters holstered at her sides.

“You’re not going to bind me?” He questions deftly, still cradling his wrist to his chest, injured leg strewn out in front of him. 

“Now why,” She doesn’t even turn to regard him. “would I do that?” She approaches with a small modulator in hand, along with an unlabelled bottle of some dark liquid. When her coppery gaze lands on the man, stiff and hunched, streaked with red yet a sickly pale beneath the stain, a mocking smirk tugs at her thin lips. She regards him with a sweeping gaze as she falls into the seat opposite. “You like to think you pose a threat to me?” 

The sheer undulated mocking disbelief in her voice has him startling. His lips part in both anger and fear.

“Now is not the time to think yourself a hero, old man.”

He blanches at the remark, his hands balling into fists in his lap, knuckles whitening beneath the blood that stained them. Aeris continues fiddling with the modulator, laconically typing away some code in some language he couldn’t understand, shoulders slack and head tilted, one leg crossed over the other in a pose akin to that of a bored teenager. Fury bloomed in his chest, overtaking the fear that had festered within since his capture: she was bored. She didn’t regard him as a threat, much less as warranting her attention: a man bread for battle, with a weapon within reach. A muscle ticks in his jaw as his gaze burns holes into the side of her head, unblinking, the bottles between them calling his name.

He shifts, hands inching closer to the bottles within reach, fighting a battle of logic and pride, sense and incense, fear against bravery- or rather, stupidity. The silence and beeping of the hull only adds to his frustration. 

“If you’re so tempted, try it.” The trooper flinches as her voice penetrates the silence. She still doesn’t look up. “Go on. My blasters are holstered and my hands are full.”

“Your youth betrays you with your misplaced confidence.”

She scoffs, air blowing from her nose as she grins, continuing to tap away. “I have faced far bigger bounty’s than you in my time, uninjured, young, strong - I dare you.”

The first bottle the Trooper throws smashes just to the right of the brunette, showering her in shards of glass. The second bottle flies uselessly past her face, shattering against the furthest wall and spraying the ceiling in the remnants of whatever dark liquid lay inside. The third bottle doesn’t leave his hand, remaining poised in an iron-clad grip, the fury and confidence falling from him in a tidal wave as a blaster aims straight for his chest. Aeris sits with an indiscernible emotion plastered across her pale features, head tilted to the side and ankles crossed, her boots resting against the table-top that separated the pair. Her finger rests over the trigger.

The third bottle falls to the floor.

“Kill me, get on with it.”

Goose-bumps raise over the entire Trooper’s body, sweat rippling down his sand-caked back. His gaze remains stead-fast on the woman before him, the blaster a mere blur as he watches a trickle of blood pool from a small cut on her cheek - at least he had achieved something, no matter how futile. 

Her head cocks further to the side, right eyebrow raising as a lock of hair falls into her face.

“You really do disappoint me. You all do.”

Her laconicity spurs his fury once more. “You crazy bitch. Do you get off on this you sick freak? Tying down the helpless, offering their bodies as payment to your peers, guiding them to slaughter like some pathetic-”

During his outburst, the slender brunette had risen from her seat and approached with heavy steps, the Trooper too blinded by fury, embarrassment  and fear to really pay attention. He only stops when a fist connects with his nose, his head snapping to the side and spittle flying. A firm grip on his hair has him turning back to the woman looming over him.

“Your age disgraces you with your arrogance.” She mocks his insult from earlier, a satisfied smirk pulling at her lips. “Was that your great master plan you’ve been forming ever since I tied you to this seat?” She yanks on his hair harder, and he grunts, eyes already brimming with instinctual tears from the broken nose, now twisted at an unseemly angle. “Throw some bottles at me?” She plucks a shard of glass up from the table top, holding him in place as she caresses his under-eye, scratching lightly at the skin. “I knew you would throw one - it was written across your face even before I tied you here - but then I thought you’d lunge. Put up a fight, that’s what they usually do.”

The shard of glass slips lower, pressing into his jaw and sliding behind his ear. He can hear the blood she is about to spill, mocking him with its resonant thud against his aching skull.

“You seem to have forgotten who I am.“ The glass shard follows the length of his jugular. “Now, I admire the actions of a dead man, and I understand you aren’t quite in your right mind right now - I don’t think I’d be either. But really? Throw a few bottles and hope for the best? I’m insulted.”

She suddenly releases him, glass shard falling forgotten to the floor. His wide eyes never leave her dark gaze.

“You failed. That bottle you decided to smash against my wall contained a sedative I was going to offer you before I handed you over - numb the pain of interrogation a little bit - but I guess you didn’t want it.” The Trooper’s mouth falls open, blood staining his lips as he gapes like a fish, mind running blank. “No more games.” Her eyes slide to the floor. “On you knees.”

It takes a second, and a well-placed hand on the handle of her blaster, before the Trooper obliges, collapsing with a wince before her. She binds both of his hands this time, attaching them to a floor joining underneath the sofa, tight enough for him to already begin to loose feeling in his wrists. He had remained deathly silent throughout the entire process but as she stands he opens his mouth, voice stuffy from the broken nose.

“How do I know you’re not lying. Anything could have been in that bottle.”

She glances down at him, gaze turning to the liquid that still dripped from the ceiling into small puddles, before focusing back on the kneeling man.

“I guess you’ll never get to find out.”

With a role of her shoulders she turns briskly on her heel, heading back towards the cockpit.

“Prepare yourself, we’re landing soon.”

Fear spikes up the Trooper’s spine, the hair at his nape raising and goosebumps rippling across his skin. Of course he would be handed over, but to know the end was near was truly terrifying.

“Who is it?” He calls after her retreating figure, raising higher onto his knees. “The old man back on Abafar said his name didn’t he- Val Vender. That’s who placed my bounty? I don’t even know the man.”

“Val Vondar.” The brunette turns back to the trooper, venom lacing the name. “He’s not a man. He’s a very powerful Quarren.”

“And what does he want?” The man was desperately grabbing at straws, trying to peace together a story and prepare answers to a future interrogation. “Why does he want me if I’ve never even met him?”

“How should I know? That’s not my job.” A beat of silence, Aeris gnaws on her lip for a second, catching herself and pretend to wipe something from her lips. “But put it this way- I don’t hunt Clone Troopers, it’s not what I do.” Disbelief takes over the kneeling-mans weathered face. “But Vondar has offered me payment worth far more than this simple bounty, worth more than I could turn away, because he knows I’m good at my job, and he knows you would be delivered true to my word. I don’t know what he wants, and I don’t care, but know that whatever he wants, he’s willing to sacrifice a great amount for it.”

This does little to quell the Trooper’s nerves, in fact, he feels as though his heart might burst from his chest at any moment, perspiration beginning to form along his brow.

“And he didn’t want you.” Aeris resumes her path towards the cockpit, a hidden crease forming between her brows. “He wanted an ex-Clone Trooper, any Clone Trooper. I’m afraid you did the worst job at covering your tracks, if I’d have found another they would have sufficed.” 

The Trooper feels as though he’s been slammed into by a Sand-Crawler, as though the universe had been stripped beneath him and he was falling to an endless chasm, as though his very organs had withered in his chest. His mind races with so many thoughts that he draws a blank, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the woman’s retreating figure. The Trooper calls after her but silence greets him, left to survey the glass and liquid strewn about the hull, with nothing but the chiming of the ship and the steady drip-drop of his own misfortune to keep him company.

---

Within the hour the U-wing starfighter had been docked at some small, questionable and locally-run holding bay, a small bag of credits and a murmur of ‘To the deaf’ thrown to the approaching male Twi’lek.

Aeris tugged the Trooper along, guiding him by his cuffed hands through the bustling streets of Daiyu, a planet covered in growing city-scapes and heaving with the masses. Daiyu was an incredibly developed planet, sky-scrapers looming over its inhabitants, flashing electronic signs covered every visible inch, patrons and owners alike beckoning those meandering the busy streets into their shrouded establishments, grasping at drunken wanderers and curious tourists alike. The air hung thick with smog and filth, preventing all manners of natural light from reaching the planet’s surface, the lowest levels constantly in a state of darkness. The further you descended to the planet’s surface, the grimier the structures, the fewer and less-modified the vehicles and the more beggarly the inhabitants. Truly a place to disappear.

Aeris herself adorned a mask of her own, a sleek metallic form-fitting mask that covered her entire head, a faded yellow visor obscuring her hazel eyes, and dark green markings, similar to that on her ship, painted across her brow and along the nape of the helmet, the mouth piece covering her lips and chin painted as well. She had also swapped clothes from their earlier excursion, adorning brown loose-fitting combat trousers with numerous belts along her hips and upper-thighs, the same thick and weathered laced boots, a black short-sleeve top and a chestnut aviator jacket - only her exposed skin remained tinted with a hint of red. She weaved between bodies of all shapes and sizes, all colours and creeds, and all in various states of dishevelment. The streets were so busy, and occupants so lost within their own hedonism, nobody paid any mind to the beaten and bloody man being dragged through the squalid streets, a trail of blood quickly disappearing into the grime of the pavement. Those that did spare him a glance of concern quickly disappeared back into the fold as soon as their eyes landed on the dual blasters hanging from Aeris’ hips.

Much like on Abafar, Aeris led the way with long purposeful strides, one hand stuffed into her jacket pocket whilst the other tugged against the Trooper’s bindings, the slowing man forced to limp and stagger behind her in the hopes of keeping up to release the pressure on his raw wrists. The Trooper is completely lost, meaninglessly surveying those around him as he dutifully follows along, the ship so far away he had no chance of finding his way back even if he managed to free himself. Lost in his musings of those around him, and rather unimpressed, he all but crashes into Aeris’ back as she abruptly halts, wincing and peering round her shoulder to see the matter. A young girl, no older than 16 stands before Aeris, a large coat hanging from her thin frame and large, and full, satchels draped across both shoulders. 

Aeris goes to side-step the young girl, but she begins talking before she can even take a step - Aeris’ hand falls to her belt. 

“Miss, I’ve all types of spice, powders, fauna and crystals for sale. I guarantee you won’t find a better price on this side of the planet.” The girl rattles on, sunken eyes flitting around Aeris’ figure, and her fingers twitching at her sides. 

Instead of denying and continuing on, as the Trooper had thought, Aeris inclines her head, hand returning back to her pocket.

“And why should I believe you have the best prices?”

The girl’s bloodshot eyes widen and she grins, baring yellowed teeth, at the prospect of a sale. “You see, Miss, every item I sell is a point, and they all have different points: red spice and a lot of fauna powders are only 1 point, they’re common and cheap, there’s no profit. Then things like Glitterstim, Ryll and deathsticks,” she pulls a luminescent vile from her breast pocket before stashing it away again. “are 3 points, and then snuff and serious stuff like SLV and Guilea is 6 points - when I get 5 points I get a 1 point item for free, and if I save for 30 I get a 6 point item. The cheaper I can sell the quicker I can get points.”

Aeris grins to herself behind the mask. “I don’t imagine your employer’s happy.”

“The money doesn’t matter to me, and as long as he gets his money it’s okay.”

The Trooper waits boredly, swaying on the spot as he watches the transaction, still half-believing his captor was toying with the girl and they’d leave empty handed. It was rather sad really, and if he had any capacity to think of anything that his looming death, he would have pittied the girl, evidently wired on some substance he didn’t know, far too gone to be helped. He was shocked again when Aeris’s hand dug into the inner pocket of her jacket.

“I’ll take a vial of Sweetblossom and a tab each of Glitterstim and SLV-16.”

The girl grins wider, unzipping her bag. “I like a customer who knows what they want - so much better than the tourists who don’t have a clue.”

The girl immediately pulls a vial full of white powder from one of the satchels, followed by a small opaque paper bag and a vial of bright blue powder from her inner-coat pocket. 

“200 credits, please.”

“200?” Aeris questions, shifting her weight to her right leg. 

“You’re getting SLV-16 - the Empire’s been ruining our supply for all their fucking interrogations. I can do SLV-88 instead, which’ll be 152.”

“No chance.”

The Trooper watches, disbelieving, as Aeris hands over the absurd amount of credits and stashes her new toys away, pocketing the vials and bag in a concealed reinforced leather pouch inside her jacket. The girl scurries away, smile permanently etched onto her thin face, in search of her next customer.

“Should she just be selling that in broad daylight?” The Trooper questions deftly, stumbling up a lip in the pavement as they resume their trek.

“Anything’s legal here. If you arrested everyone who cut or dealt drugs, there’d be no customers.” 

“It’s a bad habit.” 

Aeris doesn’t grace him with a response, but her grip tightens on his wrists. 

---

Throughout their journey the heaving streets barely same to wane, the pair fighting their way - or, Aeris fighting her way through the crowds, dragging a man behind her - up until they halt at a building with no visible windows until at least the tenth floor. Aeris stares up at a large steel door, positioning her bounty next to her, and giving him a quick once-over. Truthfully, he was a mess: red stained every visible inch of the man from the desserts of Abafar, with crimson blood smeared across his nose and cheeks, largely hiding the bruising and crooked nose from view, with a limp leg caked in drying blood. At least he was alive, that was the only goal she had had for this delivery, and she was both relieved and surprised to have succeeded within the time frame given to her. A leather fingerless-gloved hand came up to straighten the Trooper’s black vest top - stalling for time more than anything else.

The Trooper felt positively sick, bile and a rotten feeling rising in his throat and clogging his wind pipe as he prepared for his fate - served to a supposed crime-Lord on a silver platter, with no understanding of what he could do to possibly relieve his fate. He didn’t know this man, he had no idea what information he could even provide to lessen his suffering. Though torture and death were both damning thoughts, the most sorrowful of all had plagued his mind and heart since he had been tied up on Aeris’ ship - he would die, and no one would remember him. All his comrades had been either killed in the aftermath of Order 66, or had passed since from the state of the galaxy in the formation of a new age - the transition from Galactic Republic to Galactic Empire had not been as smooth as he had been led to believe. Few had been granted the dignity of dying from old age. He had never managed to form a family after his retirement from service, nor any meaningful friendships, and this regret hung over him like a dark shadow, and would undeniably be his last thought. 

Aeris, on the other hand, felt her nerves beginning to alight for completely different reasons, her palms beginning to clam up, and the mask she adorned feeling as suffocating as ever as she checked the bounty again, thinking over every parameter to the deal. Hope daring to build in her chest that this had all gone to plan.

“My name,” The Trooper began, wrenching her from her mental checklist. “is Rook.”

Her mask tilts towards the Trooper- Rook, waiting.

“Someone should know.” 

He doesn’t see the way she gnaws at her already chapped lips, nor the way her hands clench further into fists. Aeris was thankful for the gloves with the force her nails dug into her palms. 

“Rook.” The Trooper would be embarrassed to admit just how calming it was to hear another person utter his name. “Do you want them to know your name?” His little moment of relief dissipates as Aeris motions towards the entrance.

“No.”

She wraps her knuckles in a pattern against the looming steel doors, and they swing open with a hiss.

Two large Trandoshans immediately flanked the pair, their large clawed reptilian feet scraping against the ferrocrete floor, as a stocky Gamorrean emerged from a nearby corridor, its snout-like nose raising to reveal thick tusks in a gross display before it stepped in front of the pair, leading the way down the endless grey corridor. All three bodyguards towered over the human and Clone by a full head in height, and both Rook and Aeris couldn’t help but feel as though they were now both bounty to a much larger hunter.

At the end of the grey corridor lay another set of large double doors, of which the Trandoshans stepped forward and pushed open for the three smaller creatures to enter, immediately closing them behind the party and standing to attention. Aeris’ hands twitched as the lizard-like creatures resumed their station at the doors - the only exit - minimally inching towards her blasters. Her gaze swept over the room from behind her visor. For such a rich individual, Val Vondar kept his meeting rooms sparse and underwhelming: the walls, floor and ceiling were all made from grey ferrocrete, and three long and blinding fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling in even strips. One rather plush chair sat in the centre of the room and on that chair sat Val Vondar himself, the Quarren leant back leisurely, draped in the finest cloth dirty money could buy. He oozed extravagance, polished shoes shining in the harsh fluorescent light, glinting almost mockingly compared to the new-comers dirty and bloodied pairs. His four tentacles that rested languidly on his chest detracted from the look of sophistication, and his beady turquoise eyes unsettled Aeris and Rook greatly, for many of the same reasons. Aeris had always found the Quarren an aesthetically displeasing race, and the man before her repulsed her from the entire species - perhaps it was his resemblance to a squid that had triggered her trepidation of seafood. 

"Weapons.” The Gamorrean commands, holding out a steel tray towards the bounty hunter. With a tic of her jaw Aeris quickly dispenses her blasters and blades into the tray before un-cuffing her bounty and placing the binding along with the assortment of weapons. After a thorough pat-down the pair are allowed to step into the centre of the room.

“Val Vondar,” Aeris begins, praying to the force and whatever else existed in the galaxy that her voice wouldn’t fail her. “I found this ex-Clone Trooper in the dessert of Abafar, and I have delivered him alive and well within the fortnight granted.” She produces a small cylindrical fob from her pocket, handing it over to the Gamorrean, who then hands it to its owner.

“I see, my dear, and I am impressed you have found me a specimen so soon when so many over my other bounty’s have failed me.” Val regards Rook with an intense gaze, tentacles writhing in excitement. Rook seemed to pale with every passing second, wringing his hands together in his best efforts to stay composed, sweat trickling down his back and terror clawing at his throat. Every breath that seized his lips felt like a battle. “And you, Trooper, do not fear. You shall be cared for properly, your wounds tended to, until it is time for my use of you.”

“What may that use be?” Rook questions, Aeris’ masked head whipping in his direction. He swallows around his parched tongue, his throat too tight to be of any use.

“Your DNA.” Val splutters as if it was obvious. Rook’s hopeful gaze lifts for a second, but quickly withers in his chest as Val continues. “Do not get your hopes up, Trooper, I assure you shall be treated with respect and humility - any enemy to the Jedi is a dearest friend of mine. However, I am afraid all of your DNA will be needed. You will not outlive the procedure.”

Rook’s eyes close in grief, the reality of the situation tearing through him like a blaster to the heart. 

“See to it he is cleaned and patched up, we cannot have him passing before his time.” Val disregards with a wave of his hand, the Gamorrean seizing the Clone Trooper by the arm and guiding him from the room. Rook doesn’t put up a fight, eyes downcast and jaw clenched as he staggers from the room. The doors hiss shut behind them. 

Aeris waits patiently in the centre of the room, heart beating steadily in her chest despite the clamminess to her skin, her lip bleeding with the extent to which she was chewing on it.

“Val-”

“I am happy to say you have not failed me. You provided me something invaluable, something which none of my other Hunter’s could provide.” The squid-like humanoid begins, gravelly voice reverberating around the enclosing walls. “I also understand that Clone Trooper’s are not something you hunt, and I appreciate the compromise you made for me. You shall be rewarded for your efforts.”

The panic in her heart immediately wanes, a breath releasing from her chest in a hopeful sigh. She had done it- this was it.

“But,” The tall being leans forward in his chair, clawed fingers gripping at the armrests. “the cargo was damaged.”

“A blaster shot to the leg was the only way to-”

“Excuses!” He bellows, rising from his chair and silencing the young woman, her teeth grinding and jaw clenching. “Do you realise how important this shipment is?! The Empire will not take such excuses!” He leans back into his chair, legs crossing leisurely. “No, original payment will not be given.”

“But-!” Aeris begins, eyebrows furrowed in fury and hands balled into fists, taking a step forward. A clawed hand landing on her shoulder has her halting in her steps, one of the two Trandoshans guarding the doors having approached. Her chest shudders with a breath as his claws tighten around her shoulder- her concealed eyes flicker to her weapons at the other side of the room. 

“Original payment of absolution of debts is withdrawn - you remain indebted to me until I deem it so.” Aeris’ mind frazzles, this had been her chance - her one chance. “Your freedom is mine and you will honour this until my death, or yours.”

“You were never going to give me my freedom.” She spits, fury boiling the blood in her veins. 

“Impress me, one day you might earn it.” His head tilts to the side. “Financial payment is in order, thankfully I foresaw such an occurrence and have the funds.” He produces a small bag of credits, placing it on the floor beside his feet. “But,” His voice takes on a playful tilt, and Aeris’ blood quickly simmers and runs cold as his dead eyes stare gleefully at her. “I think it is fair to say you have been far too disrespectful during this entire negotiation. You offer me damaged goods and then dare offer an excuse? And then, even more blasphemous, you dare challenge my genuinity, my honour.” He nods to himself, waving a webbed hand. “It seems you have forgotten you place, I am sure Kron will have no problem reminding you.”

Aeris gasps in a shuddering breath as one of the Trandoshans guards returns to her side, the other remaining at the door. The beast truly was a machine, rippling muscle protected by layers of thick scaly skin. She swallows in a lame attempt to control her nerves, the anger lapping at her insides quelled with the fear that seized her. She had been so close- so close to this never happening again. 

“You know the protocol Aeris, mask off. I need to see that you understand this lesson.”

They both understood that he just liked to watch people get hurt. Yet, he played along with the pretences anyway.

She stood for a moment, a war raging in her mind- her pride desperately wanted to fight the humiliation she was about to be forced to endure. Wisdom reminded her of all the times before, of all the beatings that had been give, of all the lessons that had been taught, again and again, until she learnt. The helmet would be taken from her anyway, when she was too bloody and too close to unconsciousness to put up a fight, and she would be beaten again, without the helmet.

She steps purposefully to the corner of the room, determined not to show any fear, though the shaking of her hands betrayed her. With a click the helmet is removed and placed delicately on the smooth floor. She takes her time setting the item down, shrugging her jacket off for good measure - from past experience she had learnt that solid objects within the jackets often hurt more than a typical beating. 

As she steps into the centre of the room, brunette locks falling unceremoniously around her thin face, she tunes in to the conversation again. 

“-make it hurt but not crippling, she needs to be able to work for me again soon after this.”

“Before the lesson begins, do you have anything to say for yourself? An apology perhaps?” Val was far too excited for the ordeal about to unfold, his tentacles twitching in excitement as he leant out of his chair.

Aeris levels the creature with a sour stare, a million insults bouncing around her skull as she watches the fucking squid practically writhe in excitement. Out of all the creative fish-based insults floating around her head, she opts for a simple yet precise phrase, one to truly portray her fury.

“Fuck you.”

Val grins, pointy teeth glimmering in the harsh light. 

“Kron, make sure this one hurts.”

---

Aeris didn’t know how long she remained in that overbearingly underwhelming room, curled in on herself with her arms protectively wrapped around her head, counting the dull thudding of blood in her ears and dead to the world around her. She didn’t know when the beatings had stopped, nor did she know when Val Vondar had left the room with his bodyguards, leaving her alone with only her pain and regret for company. She didn’t know what was to happen to Rook, she didn’t know if she had already been given another assignment, and she didn’t know what she was to do next, her plans for the future destroyed in a single afternoon.

All she did know was that she was hurt, and angry, but that more importantly she had to get home, and to do that, she had to get up.

With a pained groan her hands tentatively fall from their guard around her skull, her shoulders aching as she finally allows their tension to seep away, instead winding them around her bruised torso, dirtied and bloodied cheek pressing against the concrete floor as she finally begins to survey the damage. Her body throbbed from head to toe, though the cold that seeped into her bones from the cement beneath her dulled her senses, and a headache reverberated around her skull, emanating from a sharp pain at the junction between her head and neck. She winces as her eyes squint open, flinching away from the fluorescent lights casting deep dark shadows across the room. With a groan and a gasp she pushes herself unsteadily onto her hands and knees, head hanging low as her hazy eyes fix on her scraped knuckles, palms flat against the cement floor. Her arms ache with the effort to support her weight, and every breath sucked into her lungs sets her torso alight with pain, her ribcage protesting against every breath. The cold had numbed her legs completely, and it took immense concentration to find her footing beneath her as she pushed herself upright, stumbling up onto her legs, hands out ready as the world spun around her. 

“Fuck.” She groans, grimacing and grasping at her sides as pain bloomed, slowly straightening despite her bodies protests. 

Too harsh a grip has her seeing stars and nearly tumbling to the floor again, her palms pressing flat against her right side in a useless effort to repair the damaged ribs that pressed against her bruised skin. As she stumbles to her belongings in the corner of the room her vision slowly begins to seep back, her peripheral slowly coming back into focus as she blinked rapidly, swallowing down the nausea that threatened to claw up her throat. 

She grunts as she leans down, shaking hand grasping her jacket from the floor which she slowly shrugs on, wincing at the effort but distracted as her red-rimmed eyes survey the credits strewn about her feet, and the open bag carelessly thrown in her belongings’ direction. Of course, she thinks bitterly, of course he wouldn’t even make this easy. Though she had half a mind to leave the credits and write the bounty off altogether, she swallowed her pride and slowly lowers herself to the cool ground and begins collecting the credits, gritting her teeth and mumbling obscenities all the while - she may as well get something out of this ordeal.

Hauling herself to her feet with the help of the nearest wall, right hand gripping the rough material with scraped palms, she licks her teeth, spitting blood onto the floor uncaring about the mess. The familiar metallic taste coated her mouth and throat, and she wipes her mouth with her free hand, wincing at the aggravation to her split lip. With feeling slowly returning to her legs she makes for the exit, heavy boots thudding against the solid floor breaking the tense silence. She slides her familiar mask back onto her face, wincing at the pressure on her skull but thankful for the relief it offered from the overbearing lights. Though her actions were pained and sluggish, left hand still cradling her right side, and right hand tugging at the underside of her helmet in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure, she emerges from the compound mere moments later. She doesn’t glance back as she disappears into the ongoing bustling crowds that lined the streets, slipping back into obscurity just as quickly as she had left it.

---

By the time Aeris stumbled back onto her ship she was practically doubled over, almost falling through the doorway to the main hull as the door slid shut behind her, cursing through quick breaths as she catches herself on the centre table, knuckles white with how hard she gripped its ledge, fighting the urge to heave her guts out whilst still wearing her mask. Sweat pooled across her brow and down her neck, a thick layer of grime coating her damp skin. The journey home had been uneventful, the blasters at her hips warding off competition and salesmen alike, but the crowds had been relentless, and the jostling had done little to improve her condition. 

Carelessly dropping her mask to the floor, the brunette gasps a deep breath, pain written plainly across her sharp features. Her jacket follows suit, shrugged from her boney shoulders with a wince and thrown across the table, uncaring for where it landed. Shuffling to a hidden compartment on the furthermost wall, shaking hands reach into a divot, fumbling for a few moment before a resonant click accompanies a neighbouring panel lurching open to reveal a small bathroom. Aeris sighs with relief as she leans against a small basin, immediately splashing her face with cool water and raking her hands through her disheveled locks, pushing her bangs from her face. Her dark gaze finally lifts to a mirror above the basin as her hands rest in the cool water, soothing the cuts and grazes she had sustained. A cracked and smudged reflection stares back at her, her mouth pressing into a thin line and her eyebrows furrowing at the sight that greeted her. As usual, she looked gaunt and worn, deep bags under her bright eyes extenuating her sharp gaze and harrowing stare, lean physique only adding to the misconceived frailness of her being. 

Already a bruise blossomed along her left cheek and curved its way around her eye, the familiar splattering of red and yellow warning of a shiny hue still to come. Her right cheek, though not bruised, had been scraped against the cement floor, and now an angry array of red welts raised beneath fresh open grazes, blood mixing with the water to slowly trickle down her hollow cheek. Her gaze briefly fell to a scar winding its way behind her neck, its glossy edge only visible peaking from beneath her slicked locks, before she pulls her gaze away, squaring herself with an indignant look.

Preparing herself with a deep breath her hands come to grab the material of her shirt, an audible whimper catching in her throat as she tugs the garment off, ribs and shoulders protesting. 

“Fucking hell.” She curses, throwing the shirt to the side and gasping a breath, attempting to disturb her ribs as little as possible with every intake. Kron may as well have been an artist given the smattering of colour that decorated her pale skin, bright and angry hues of red spontaneously wound their way across her hips and stomach, concentrated bursts of a deeper crimson, already beginning to fade away to a hideous purple-black, wove its way along her sides and across each individual rib. The bruising disappeared beneath the tight binding she wore on her chest, and though its tightness pained her more with every breath and twist, she left it be, not willing to wrestle free from the constricting garment and cause more pain than necessary. Her right side was the worst of all, a particularly worrisome lashing of purple winding around her ribcage. She grimaces at the stinging reminder as she dabbles a damp wash-cloth across her skin, gingerly dabbing at the most tender areas, yet grateful of the numbing effect on her beaten skin. 

With every passing moment the pain and nausea lessened, giving way to a myriad of emotions Aeris would rather not dwell on. She had been so close, so close to being free of all of this. Though Val rarely called on her with such pressing demands, unlike this last bounty, the constant threat of being summoned back to the Quarren’s clutches to do his bidding hung heavy across her shoulders. Disobedience would lead to death - her last moments spent hunted by those she may have considered colleagues, or perhaps mutually-beneficial competition, but there was no longer anywhere truly hidden in the galaxy, not for people like her, not anymore. 

She can feel the blood pumping through her veins, solely propelled by her frustration alone, something sinister and disheartening clawing its way up her throat and seizing her chest. She was furious, she was devastated, she was incensed and beyond consolable. Dark eyes glowered at the new lesson that had been beaten across her skin, insults and nonsense echoing around her skull, Aeris unsure herself who they were actually aimed at - Val? Herself? The Universe? All of it, fuck it all.

Unfortunately, this feeling was not foreign. And its’ familiarity only frustrated her more. 

She felt suffocated. Mounting frustration at her fate, at her carelessness in her youth, in allowing herself to be indebted. When she had had nowhere left to turn, where the monster’s clawed hands and webbing lies seemed the only chance for survival, when she had thought debts could be repaid - foolish, foolish, foolish.

As righteous as her fury felt, and as comforting as it was compared to wallowing in despair at her failure, Aeris was exhausted. Every muscle and bone ached, her eyes so worn and tired every blink felt sand-scratched. The week had been gruelling, tirelessly chasing Rook across a planet’s worth of deserts in the hope of bringing her bounty back on time. She had seldom slept, nor had a proper meal, and her body craved the former, her feet feeling like lead in her boots. Turning from the mirror, leaving her shirt behind, she saunters towards the bloodied sofa and table in the centre of the room, grabbing a small bag from a shelf on the way.

She collapses onto her seat, head lolling back, stretching her neck and back with a grunt. Truly, her anger had finally melted away, subdued beneath a familiar mix of despair and grief settled in her stomach. Her gaze falls to the bottles of blue and white liquid already grasped in her hands. From her bag she produces a syringe and a pipette, laying them onto the table carefully. First, the pipette, the brunette fiddling with the cap of the white liquid - Sweetblossom - with well-practiced hands. 5 drops is all it takes before she’s sealing the liquid away again, savouring the familiar tingling warmth spreading from her mouth to her stomach as her focus turns instead to the jewel of her collection - the iridescent blue of SLV-16. She could already feel the tension seeping from her muscles as she prepares the syringe full of the bright liquid, its potent fruity smell filling her nose as she stashes the bottles away, being sure to secure their caps. She doesn’t think as she plunges the syringe into her left arm, her vein flashing beneath her skin as the liquid disperses - she doesn’t want to think.

Empty syringe discarded back into the small bag, and mind already grinding to a steady halt, she places her blasters onto the table in front of her, pushing them out of arms reach as her eyelids flutter. She leans back, legs propped against the dirtied table as her eyes flutter to the ceiling, blown pupils already beginning to haze. With every second she feels her mind begin to numb, the aches and pains of her body numbed and forgotten, the world blurring at the edges, and her worries melt into nothingness - all will and willpower obsolete, with nothing but the humming of the hull to accompany her to slumber.

---

Aeris’ jolts awake from her dreamless sleep, wrenched from a comforting dark abyss to the confines of her ship, shuddering breathes wracking her chest as her wild blood-shot gaze flits about the room, alert and fearing an intrusion. Her head tilts to the side, brain finally recognising the annoying shrill of her communicator from with her jacket. She reaches forward sluggishly, already planning to ignore the bounty and return to her peaceful slumber, but when she pulls the small circular device from her pocket, those thoughts all but vanish.

All air is sucked from her lungs as her wide red-rimmed gaze glares unwavering at the hologram before her, her mind and body numb with shock and horror. Her heart rattles against her ribcage and her mind frazzles as memories of a reality long since abandoned force themselves to the forefront of her mind, faces and voices that had haunted her for an age dancing behind her eyelids, pangs of sorrow and regret seizing her chest and strangling her lungs. Her throat was tight - too tight - and her mouth as parched as the salt-flats of Tatooine, an uncomfortable mix of disbelief and irritation churning her stomach. Her knuckles turn white with the force with which she gripped the small device, her face almost as pale with all colour sapped from her cheeks.

The air feels icy against her skin and yet perspiration forms along her brow, hairs on her neck standing on end. 

Her eyes stare unblinking at the little hologram dancing across her screen, a familiar yet aged face staring back at her.

That’s fucking Obi-wan Kenobi.

[nunnduuraah-blog]

Love

She was a girl, with a bright smile and laughter that bred more. She was a beacon, shining bright in the crowd, attracting many friends, like moths dancing around. She was there on those rainy days, when the lightning cracked, and the thunder roared. When you felt trapped, her voice was an anchor, that kept you home.

She gave love, she spread love... but she'd give it all away, and never save any for herself. All her mirrors were cracked, only seeing distortions. Maybe a beacon, but a lone beacon. She'd see problems where there weren't, and the worry crept in. Fear dug its hooks in her heart and metastisized like a cancer, spreading rot around her world. Doubt doubt doubt, there was always a question, never a state of sureness or confidence. The world got darker, and the the world got smaller...

Her world was the world, then her world was her city, then her world was her home, and then her world was her room. And all the hurt, all the poison, it was in that room too... then there wasn't much room left. And then her world became her bed, and finally just her head, and there was even less room. A mind like a maelstrom, a million thoughts a second, storming violently around in that pretty little skull of hers.

A week, a month, a year, a decade... her light grew dim, a beacon no more. The outside world mostly forgotten, memories of it twisted and darkened. Pressure built, and the pain grew, and she forgot how to love everyone, and they became foggy, so far away. And she was alone, carrying her dark world. It became heavier and heavier until it shattered her bones, and broke her heart. She'd cry and cry until she cried all her feelings out, and then she was numb.

And one day she felt calm. One day, one day she felt at ease. And she got up, and she got dressed. She put on her jacket, and she went back out into the big wide world. Everything felt crisper, everything was so much more vibrant. And she walked, underneath a great starry heaven. She felt the cold, she felt alive, she felt absolute clarity and she knew. She reached a bridge, and looked out over at the world, a neon starscape.

She thought about her life, about those special people who made a residence in her heart. She climbed the railing, and she stood tall, arms outstretched, like she was embracing it all. And then she took a leap, and she sprouted wings, and she flew. Her pain washed away, and she felt strong... for the first time in a long time. Her wings shone, silvery white, like gentle moonlight.

She soared so high, oh so high. And with every flap of her radiant wings, she spread stardust. This stardust was very special, for it sought out the hurting hearts, and lodged itself within. Like the morning dew, it was pure. Cleaning away the layers of pain and hate.

Her body became light, and she sought out those who had nobody. She found the people, who were like she had been, and her light became warm. She shone golden, like the sun. She became like the Summer, blanketing the world, and she'd wrap her wings around those who were too cold, holding them in a healing embrace. She was herself again, but she was more. She loved again, but much much more. Enough love for the whole world. And her light was hungry, and it drank up all the darkness in the world. All the scars, all the nightmares, all the sickness... She shared the world's burden, and her light gave that darkness life,until it too shown bright. The world was dazzling, and it sang, a song of hope eternal.

She was a warrior, an angel, the goddess of love, enough love even for herself too. She was a blazing halo around the Earth, an event-horizon like sweet honey, and everything was okay, and everything was right in the world.

But I don't really believe she flew, and maybe you don't either. I think she stopped, I think the melody that was her became silent... I think she ceased to be. I think she had an open wound, and I think it festered, it was killing her, and she couldn't take it anymore.

I wish I'd been there, maybe I could have said something. Maybe if I sat her down, just talked about anything. Maybe I could have been her anchor, and kept her home.

But now she's a long ways away, too far to see anymore, and we can't talk anymore. I think I could have had enough love for the both of us, I think I could have carried her a bit longer, until she got her legs back.

I should have been that angel, I should have been that love. All those mundane days that went by in a daze could have been more praise I could have given to her. I'd carry her mile by mile all the while fueling her smile. No more tears, no more fears, we'd share those worries and take it together. Leaning into one another like beams supporting each other and creating a foundation for happiness.

I should have loved more, but I have the love now, I'm ready, so give me a chance, just turn back the time...

But days march only forward, and yesterday just gets farther away. At least a goodbye? I'm begging for something, anything.

And what about you? You could an angel too. An angel of love and warmth and light, shining oh so bright.

Maybe together we can make dreams come true. Save a life, save the whole world.

So try to be kind, try to be sweet. And like a waterfall cascading, flow towards infinity. Be the beautiful flower who's petals evelope the world in its love.

Even just a smile, even just a nice word. Forget saving the world, and dreams coming true. The smallest of gestures is important too.

Be a beacon, even if you just feel like a single candle on a stormy sea.

Because if there's one, there can be two. And me and you, and you too. We can spread out light and become one, like a second sun. And we'll guide those sorry souls, spirits lost and untold.

Loving can be hard, but we gotta try. Love the world, and love ourselves. Step by step, we can build the stairs to the heavens. It's okay if it takes a while, there's no rush.

Sounds like a pretty pretty idea to me.

PS: I'm sorry for how heavy that was. Inspiration just hits in different ways, and sometimes it can be real melancolich. And please don't worry, I'm okay, I promise I'm not going nowhere. This also isn't about anyone specific either.

I just wanted to spread a little love, and again, sorry for the bitter capsule it came in. If this helps at all great, if it's upsetting, it's okay to ignore it.

[unholyhelbig]

Play Me a Memory | Part 2/7

Ship: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a woman shrouded in a mystery, falling deeper and deeper into her secret identity. The only place she can be herself and find solace is a small piano bar. The person behind the keys harbors secrets of their own that draw them closer to Natasha.

(Read Part One)

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You had rented a small flat seven square blocks from The Green Door. It was a quick walk, an even quicker sprint, which you rarely resorted to. There was one window that opened to the humid days and bucked to the cooler nights. The previous tenant left a desk that you had littered with crinkled papers and ballpoint pens that had been chewed to a pulp.

The first thing you bought for yourself in Berlin was a bed that was shoved against one of the cracked walls. There was a nest of blankets and a lamp that was on the wooden floor. It gave you enough light to read, and to sleep if there was a particularly strong wind. You had a keyboard, and a fridge that leaked water more often than not, but it was home- as tired as it was.

A first aid kit was shoved under your bathroom sink. That was your second purchase along with a bottle of aspirin. You had become an expert at pissing off the wrong type of people, skilled at dodging and keeping your hands undamaged. After all, they were the only thing that made you money.

You took a lot to the face. It hurt to frown, or to smile, or to do anything that wasn’t short of a wince. It was easy to lean close to the mirror in the bathroom, speckled with toothpaste and drops of water, your fingers working at the small cut through your lip, and your brow. The blood ran orange eventually and the headache would soothe, a little strip bandage placed horizontally over the gap.

Your shoulders ached, fingers thrumming from the one hit you had thrown. You’d play it off tonight, or perhaps down a few drinks. You had blinked the sleep from your eyes after receiving a text from Pietro. You were to cover the bar until the sun dipped behind the horizon, and then you’d get a chance to play.

The thought occurred that you could say no to Pietro, pull your scratchy blanket back over your head, and bury it further into the mattress. But a following text buzzed through, you could keep the tips from the morning, and that gave you a sliver of hope.

So, you dawned a jacket and made your way to the Green Door, buying a small pastry and a black cup of coffee to bring some warmth to your veins. Berlin had a few things going for it, you had to admit. You had lived by the brochures for weeks before the reality of it all came crashing down. Your inability to leave and the desolate nature of a foreign city.

You had a key for emergencies and used it to open the back screen door, pulling yourself into the dark kitchen. It was easy to prep the fried food before Max got here, easier still to make sure the monitors were on, the lights and the chairs pulled from each table. Your fingers danced across the keys, filmy from disuse. The air was as clean as it had ever been.

You busied yourself with counting the till only glancing up when the small bell over the door jingled. Your heart leaped into your throat. If it was Matt, you’d let him sit in until Max showed up like usual, half drunk and fully reckless. Matt was good company to keep, a solid sense of humor.

But it wasn’t Matt. It was the girl from the night before. Your head was pounding, blood rushing past your years, and mouth filling with sand. Light flitted around her, particles of dust catching as if they were fireflies. She was outlined in a halo of peace.

“I’m sorry,” She said, her voice low and gravely, “I thought you were open.”

You blinked dumbly at her perfect facial structure, the way her raincoat hugged her curves, drops clinging to her hair and dripping from her nose. When had it begun to storm? The headache you were nursing canceled everything out but her.

“We are,” You found your words “What can I get for you?”

Gin and Tonic. This early in the morning it felt like a crime, but one you were willing to commit. She regarded you cautiously, so you offered up a shy smile, putting the till back in the register. You trusted your math skills as much as you trusted yourself to get home, but that seemed like a later issue you’d take up with Pietro.

The woman took a tentative step, placing her bag on the back of one of the barstools and pulling herself up onto it. There was a distinct silence to the Green Door, your own breath had hitched. A drop of water fell from the tip of her nose and splashed onto the counter.

“Have anything for breakfast?” She asked, “I needed to get out of the rain.”

“I have a pot of coffee but no creamer. I can offer you sugar, though.” She nodded and you turned towards the pot that had been bubbling much to your dismay. It was a toss-up whether it would work or not. A good hit to its roof spurred it up. “You speak very good English.”

She blew a breath from her nose “As do you. Not from here?”

“That painfully obvious?”

You turned and passed her the mug of coffee. She breathed it in, humming into the warmth. Her shoulders decided to relax, slumping. She didn’t take a sip, instead letting her cheeks bloom to a soft pink. Her eyes glowered over the rim of the glass. “I know an American when I see one. How’d you end up here?”

“Oh, you know” You began and then faltered. You didn’t know, and how could you expect her to? She lowered her cup, blinking away the steam and the heat. “Just a dumb kid who was too over their head to realize that actions have consequences.”

“That was extremely vague, Piano Man.”

“Piano Man?” The edge of your lip tipped towards a smile.

“You know, the Billy Joel song. You can’t possibly work in a place like this without knowing that song.”

You lifted a brow at her, placing a hand on a damp rag that you nervously used to wipe down the area. Surely, you had heard the song and maybe in your headache-induced haze, you weren’t remembering it. But it wasn’t coming to you.

“My father was a professor at the Manhattan School of Music, Billy Joel was not played often in my household.”

The woman huffed and stood from her seat, she made a vague gesture to the piano and glanced back at you expectantly. It took a few moments for the gears in your mind to turn and churn out something akin to a thought before you rounded the side of the counter and joined her in the dining room.

“May I?”

You nodded as she sat on one side of the bench, leaving enough room for you to join her. You did before you had time to second guess yourself, watching as her red painted nails swiped across the keys to test them out as you had done before. Her back was pin-straight, her hair damp from the rain. She smelled like the wet outside and vaguely of coffee and vanilla. This close, you could breathe her in.

The stranger instructed you to keep your hands at the far end of the piano. “Follow my lead, okay?”

Her voice was low and raspy, catching you off guard. Up close, she seemed to frown at the split at your hairline, the brown bruise that moved against your jaw. She didn’t’ begin playing immediately. Instead, she stared before turning her attention to the keys.

She started slowly, the melody building significantly before you joined in at the crescendo. The music sounded familiar in the vaguest way possible, but your addition made the woman smile. You nearly stumbled for the second time in her presence, but you caught yourself and caught yourself once more staring at her profile instead of what your hands were doing.

There was a cascade of sound that filled the dining room of the restaurant that reminded you so fondly of your freshman year before things started to matter. You would sit in your dorm for hours with roommates, with friends, and drum up different riffs on a small keyboard and napkins. Part of you longed for a record that contained this song, or something similar.

Emotion swelled within your chest as you threatened to lose yourself within the notes, within her earthy scent. She slowed her playing until there was nothing but a final sound and the two of you lingered in the silence. There was a memory of a nicer time when your body didn’t ache, and your lungs weren’t black with soot. Part of you understood now, why Matt and Jessica lingered within your artistry.

“Something like that?” You asked, smiling.

“Yeah, something like that.” She grinned back at you, her eyes flicking with something that you couldn't quite read. “I’m… Natasha, by the way.”

You nodded. It fit her. “Y/N”

There was a hesitation in her words followed by her shoulders dipping in relief. That wasn’t something for you to question. She hadn’t prodded about the cuts across your features, or why it was only the two of you in the Green Door, sharing terrible coffee. Any ounce of information spread warmth through you.

She stared into your soul; breath shallow but cool against your collarbone. You resisted the urge to nervously cycle through some scales. They were itching for something to do.

“You’re here early,” Wanda’s voice moved through the room.

You hadn’t realized that the two of you had gravitated towards each other, mere inches that had now lengthened with a new presence. Wanda leaned against the doorframe, an eyebrow raised and a coy smile on her face.

“Pietro called out. Long night, I think.”

You grabbed at one of the half-finished pieces that you scribbled between drinks and scrawled your number across the top before sliding it to Natasha. “Listen if you… If you want to enlighten me sometime about current music, here’s my number.”

She took it, crinkling her nose. “Billy Joel is not current. I take this as a challenge.”

Tag List: @ohmy-godyes @littlebluestone @kacka84 @143bc @lenam07 @tforjatp @iwishforausername @strangegardentaco @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

[prfctethereal]

Can you write James Potter smut please. Thank you

frosted hearts. | james potter

pairing: single dad!james potter x preschool teacher!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: NSFW. smut, sub!james, dom!reader, talk of masturbation, talk of punishment, mommy kink, praise kink, tit sucking, thigh riding, slap and degrading kink only for a short amount of time at the end

summary: you are harry’s preschool teacher and one day james is late to picking his son up from school

**

It was hard to be around screaming toddlers, all day, every day. By the end of your long shifts, your head was blistered by the engraved sound of whining, moaning, and that smacking sound the children make with their lips.

But for the most part, you loved being around kids. Their tenderness brought so much joy to you and you were happy to have become an early childhood teacher. Your workplace was loving, with your fellow teachers continuously supporting you through everything. Even the kids were decently nice.

The age old stigma that kids were devil spawn seemed like the most foreign concept to as you coddled a near sleeping three year old, his warm body curled up to your side. Reading a children’s story to the kids, you felt so much adoration for the children around you, enough to make your cheeks rouge. All of them looked at you with doe eyes as you finished the last page.

“And the princess and the prince fell in love and lived happily ever after.” You closed the book with a soft clap. “The end.”

Looking around, the children beamed, flashing their pearly, toothy smiles towards you. In that moment, you felt at peace, almost content, knowing that you were bringing enjoyment to the kids surrounding you. Gently, you stroked the arm of the nearest child, Harry, as he slowly unraveled from your side.

“Miss?” Harry asked placidly, his tiny fingers down playing with the hem of your skirt. He looked up at you, fluttering his long eyelashes.

“Yes, Harry?” You responded, once you knew that he wasn’t going to speak without permission.

“Do you have a prince?”

At those words, you frowned, your smile disappearing from your face. Admittedly, you have been quite lonely for the past year. Focusing on work has been devastating for your social life. After your messy breakup with your previous partner, you felt like it was unnecessary to rush into another relationship. Quickly enough, those days turned into months, and eventually a year. Your dry spell was becoming quite unbearable.

As the winter months closed in, you wished for more comfort at night. The smoking fireplace could only fill your lonely apartment with so much warmth before you got desperate - needy - for something more. Some nights were spent with your fingers curled up into your cunt, tight from the months of neglect, desperately trying to churn some pleasure out of you, but, there was only so much your own fingers could do. They couldn’t go nearly as deep enough, or stretch you nearly as much as you so deeply desired. You were starting to become flustered just thinking about it.

“No.” Your reply was short, until you realised the kids around you would want a longer explanation. Sighing, you folded your hands in your lap, pursing your lips forward. “I’m not a princess of any sort. Even then, sometimes people don't have someone with them.”

“Just like my Daddy.” Harry babbled unprompted, dawdling away from you to join the midst of his pre-school friends. “He is all alone too.”

You knew Harry’s father, and just the thought of him made you curl your toes in delight. He was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. Deep hazel eyes that light up when he laughs. Plump pink lips that frame his mischievous smile. Strong, muscular arms, complimenting his toned hands, that you can imagine wrapped around your neck...

Before you could even process the dubious insult thrown your way, you felt a sprinkling of fingers press lightly against your shoulders, snapping you out of your daze. Furrowing your eyebrows, you traveled your eyeline up, locking eyes with another teacher who worked there, Lily.

She looked absolutely wrecked. You knew she had been on the phone for most of the afternoon, for reasons you didn’t know, but you expected that you were going to be told now, as she beckoned you away from the kids.

“One moment.” You held up your finger, showing the kids an example of counting. As you walked away, you saw the kids out of the corner of your eye. They too had one finger in the air, repeating the same word - “One!” - over and over to each other. It was very cute.

“Roads have been closing because of the weather.” Lily started, her nimble fingers gesturing out of the frosted window panes. She was right; the roads were starting to look pretty bad. A thin layer of snow seemed to be shredding downwards, coating the town like powdered sugar. The sun stayed behind the clouds, not even daring to peek through, keeping the town in a cold flurry, and keeping the children inside. This was going to be a long shift.

“So, we’ll have to stay here longer tonight?” You asked, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. You brought the pads of your index fingers up to the window pane, feeling the chill of the temperature seem into your skin. WIthout realising it, you traced a heart shape into the frost, your own heart sighing as you exhaled.

“Hopefully not.” Lily replied. “I’ve contacted all the parents and have told them to come pick up their kids as soon as possible. This storm seems to not be slowing down any time soon. So, potentially, we might be able to go home early, if the children all get picked up before the snow gets too thick. And, don’t bother coming in tomorrow. The snow’s gonna settle, meaning there will be road closure all across town.”

“Great.” A sarcastic laugh poured from your mouths as you turned back to the kids, who were still being occupied by the thought of having one finger in the air. “We should start getting them ready then.”

You and Lily worked diligently side by side, bundling the kids up in layers of soft clothing, keeping them secure from the storm. The kids joined in too, helping to clean the classroom, picking up litter off of the floor, and clearing off tables. As you sprayed down the surfaces of the tables and kitchen counters, you hummed a soft tune, getting into the rhythm of cleaning.

While you were occupied with cleaning, parents started arriving, greeting their kids with loving smiles and gentle touches. You melted as the kids ran excitedly into their parents arms, wrapping themselves around their mums and dads, wishing to not let go. In those sweet moments, you felt a fleeting pang of loneliness. You longed for your own child, and with that, a loyal husband. You breathed out a sigh, something that was becoming quite regular for you by now.

As more and more parents arrived, you saw the sun trickle behind the horizon. Soon, the night sky appeared, painting the sky in hues of indigo and cerulean. As much as you loved the night, you didn’t love the idea of being stuck here all night, and neither did Lily, who was looking even more restless than you.

Her ginger hair fell across her face, partially blocking her vision as she lethargically signed out the second to last kid. Deep, violet bags were forming under her eyes, her skin borderline white from her exhaustion. It was getting hard to look at.

“Why don’t you just go home?” Your offer made Lily perk her head up. “You look way too tired to even continue standing on two feet.”

“I couldn't do that to you.” Lily yawned, clasping her perfectly manicured hand over her mouth. “And besides, Harry hasn’t been picked up yet. I still have to do my job.”

You looked at her with pity in your eyes. You hadn’t seen her this exhausted in years, and you knew her anxiety was bubbling up as more and more snow fell onto the ground. “Please just go Lily. It’s only Harry; I can monitor him by myself. You need to get home before the snow gets heavier.” Before she could butt in, you continued. “Besides, Harry much prefers me over you.”

Lily laughed, closing you tightly into a friendly hug. “Thank you so much. I’ll get you back another day. Are you sure you’re all good closing up on your own?”

“Go home.” You waved her away dismissively. Lily bounced around and in only five minutes, she had collected herself, and had dashed out the door, leaving only you and Harry in the pre-school.

He was looking quite tired himself, which was understandable. By now, it was nearly eight o’clock at night, a time you knew was well past his bedtime. Harry had curled himself up on one of the naptime beds himself, his raven hair falling over his eyes. Staying by his side, you caressed his back, until he fell into a soft slumber.

You felt lonely again. Harry was asleep and there was nothing left for you to do until Harry’s father arrived to pick him up. You knew a few things about Harry’s father, from the fleeting conversations you had had over the time Harry had been at this school. You knew his name was James, and he looked like heaven. Everytime you glanced his way, you felt yourself grow wet. It probably was a problem, but your secret crush didn’t hurt anyone, so you kept it secret.

Long after it had become dark, you finally saw canary coloured headlights glint in the distance. It was a relatively nice car, something you’d expect a well paid ministry worker, like James, to drive. You watched attentively as the car parked slowly and surely. Then, the car door opened, and you got your first look of James for the day.

He definitely looked a little tired but there was something endearing about it. His fluffy brown hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had run his fingers through it greatly. His round glasses sat low on his nose bridge, with his natural eyes scanning the area. There, he locked eyes with you through the window, the same window you had drawn your pathetic heart on. Right then, James was positioned right in the middle of the heart, condensation like a halo.

Before you knew it, James had opened up the door into the school, realising a sigh of relief when he was hit by the warmth of the classroom. Dramatically, he closed the door behind him, leaning up against the frame, apologies falling from his lips like rain from the sky.

“I’m so sorry I was late. Traffic was crazy. Too many road closures.” James seemed frantic, but the solidarity of the preschool was definitely calming his mood down.

“There’s no need to apologise, Mr Potter. Harry is delightful to look after.”

“Please,” James held out his hand, “call me James.” You intertwined your fingers with hsi, shaking his hand ever so lightly, the same hand you had fantasised about. It was everything you dreamed of.

“I should drive Harry home now.” James broke the silence, his voice cutting through the tension, making you want to salivate. You didn’t like the idea of James driving in his state, especially since he looked so tired. If anything, he would need some caffeine in him before the journey.

You reached your hand up, stroking his right cheek with your left hand, concern filling your eyes. “Oh, please James, you look so tired. Let me make you a cup of tea before you journey back home. You look as though you need it.”

James chuckled. “Alright then, just one though. Besides, Harry seems to be having a lovely nap. Wouldn't want to disturbed him now, would we?”

You guided James into the back kitchen through a secret door. Here was your break room where you could have some peace and quiet away from the kids. It was one of your favourite places in the entire school, because even though you loved the kids, sometimes you just needed a place to help you unwind, and unwind you did. Countless times you had fallen asleep back here and had dreamed of James.

“We have Earl Grey. Is that okay?” You looked through your cupboards, eyes locking onto a small red box, tea bags flooding out of it. Personally, you weren’t a big fan of it, that's why there were still so many, but James didn’t seem to mind it.

“Please, sounds lovely, dear.”

You worked in silence, turning the kettle on to boil. Carefully, you dunked a tea bag into a mug, swirling it around in your fingers as you waited for the water to boil. The emptiness of volume was killing; you could’ve heard a pin drop. James was the one to speak up first.

“Harry really likes you. He talks about you often.”

“Oh really?” You chuckled in disbelief, facing away from James, fiddling with some lint of your sweater.

“Yes. Sometimes, he even calls you Mum. I’m happy that he has a mother figure like you to look after him.” You chuckled when hearing James’ words, which confused him. “Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You said, reaching for the kettle. “He’s just not the only one to have called me Mommy before.”

James furrowed his brows, even more confused. “You have kids of your own?”

“Not quite.” You swung your head around, throwing James a cheeky grin. That’s when he understood what you meant. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his pants seeming just a bit tighter than before. It was definitely hotter in the room.

“What normally happens when people call you that?” James asked, testing the waters. As you stood to move around, the chair scraped against the wooden floors, alerting you of his prowling presence.

When he was a mere inch away from you, you smirked once again. “Why don’t you kiss me and find out?” You weren’t sure where this rush of confidence was coming from but you both seemed to not want to slow down.

Consciously, James raised his hand to your cheek, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His soft hands lingered a little too long, before his eyes flickered downwards towards your lips. You knew what he wanted, but you never took him for the shy type. Something about this made you aroused. Needing relief desperately, you lunged forwards, connecting your lips to his.

It was everything you thought it would be. Hungry, passionate, skilled. Your lips melded perfectly together with his, as his lips sucked gently on your top lip. Yearning for something more, you moved your hands down to his ass, giving James an experimental squeeze. Just like how you wanted, he gasped, giving you the perfect entrance to insert your tongue into his ready mouth. He moaned, his lips vibrating against you.

“Show your Mommy how much you need her.” You pulled away, whispering those words at the shell of his ear. You could hear James whimper in front of you, positioning himself so he was straddling one of your thighs, as you were pushed up against the counter tops.

James’ fingers worked at the hem of your sweater. Eager to remove as many clothes as possible from you, he tugged at the edge, slow whimpers escaping his pretty mouth, as you tilted your head down to his neck, aching to leave soft love bites on his skin.

He was getting needier and more submissive by the minute, but to you, he was acting like a brat. “That’s not how we ask for something we want, is it baby? Use your words.”

“Please Mommy, may I take your sweater off?”

With a curt nod, you obliged, watching James’ eyes light up in fascination. Quickly, he pulled your sweater over your head, glad to see that your thin shir had stuck to the material of your sweater, leaving you in just a bra on top. His eyes were transfixed by the way your nipples were hard on your pert breasts, sticking out from your bra.

“Can I take your bra off please, Mommy?” James’ hands had already made their way around your torso, preparing for the inevitable.

“Yes love, good boy for asking.” You felt James grow harder against your thigh as you praised him, a thought that made you smirk in delight and what could be in store.

Like you were made of glass, James slipped the bra off of your shoulders, dragging it slowly off of your arms. You knew he wasn’t teasing on purpose, as it seemed that he was distracted by the sight of your tits, but you needed relief anyway, bucking your thigh up against his crotch as encouragement. “They’re all yours.”

Delighted, James leaned in, his whole mouth engulfing your nipple. With vigour, he bagan sucking, the pleasure of it going straight down into your core. You moaned loudly, something you learned that egged James on. Greedily, he started rubbing his hands down your side, eager to feel all of your skin. You didn’t mind though, as you were lost in your own moment.

“Good- good boy.” You stuttered out as James’ mouth left the centre of the nipple, beginning to suck small bruises into the side of your boob. Normally, you would punish him - well, anyone - for doing that without permission, but you didn’t care at that moment.

Content with his handiwork, James moved onto your next nipple, ready to give you the same amount of pleasure as last time. As he worked your nipple to a bright scarlet like the last one, you noticed a curious movement with his hips. Looking down, you saw James, rutting his hips into you, humping your thigh as if he was a bitch in heat. You moaned at the sight.

“You like that, huh? You like,” -  you jolted your thigh upwards - “Mommy’s thigh?”

“Mmm, so good.” James mumbled against your tit. You knew he was close to coming, but you weren’t quite done with him yet. Pulling him away from your body, you looked into his eyes to see a hurt expression, something you didn’t like seeing. Luckily, it wasn’t going to last long.

“If you can make Mommy cum from your tongue, then I’ll let you cum on my thigh, alright?” With an excited nod of his head, James immediately sunk to his knees, diving his head underneath your skirt. His fingers worked quickly, stretching the fabric of your panties to the side so he had the best access possible. When you heard a muffled “Oops” against your thigh, you could tell that your panties had snapped from James’ force, but you didn’t mind. He made up for it by being so damn skilled.

He dove in nearly straight away, his tongue licking straight up the lips of your cunt, lapping at it as if it was his first ever meal. The end of his tongue teased the entrance to your velvet walls, pressing in ever so slightly and pulling away, creating tension and frustration for you. But it felt so good.

“Feels so good, darling. Doing so good, my good boy. My good, good boy.” You knew he was spurred on by praise, so you gave him what he needed. Threading your fingers in his hair, you held him down slightly, taking the tiniest amount of control back.

When he began sucking at your clit, that's when you really felt the tide going out. It was ebbing at your senses, the only indication being your shaking body and the mewling whimpers coming from your mouth. This only encouraged James further to topple you over the edge.

Slowly, James brought his fingers up to your cunt, teasing your entrance with his finger. Then, he slipped it inside of you, feeling the way you clenched around his finger. You were so tight that James dreamed of how you would feel around his cock, these thoughts going straight to his straining dick in his pants. He needed relief, so he worked faster, inserting another finger and pumping faster.

You were so close by now. The combined stimulation of James’ lips suctioning at your clit and his fingers working in and out of you was too much. With one last hard suck, you felt your orgaasm wash over you like a tsunami. You could hardly hold yourself up, and that was evident by the way you toppled to your side. The only reason you didn’t hit the floor was because of James’ lightning fast reflexes, keeping you upright.

“Did I do good, Mommy?” James asked, his shiny eyes looking up at you with adoration, his lips glistening with your cum. You smiled sweetly down at him, stroking his cheek with your hand, until you pulled it back and gave him a harsh slap across his face.

“It was so good baby, but I thought I said only using your tongue?” James had the look of realisation on his face, but you kept going. “Naughty boys who don’t follow rules have to be punished, and I don't think you want to get put in the Naughty Corner, do you?”

James whimpered, but it sounded like he was enjoying the degradation. A smile spread across your face.

“Oh so you do? Good boy.”

[thewinedarksea]

pirate

ft. discussions of the pirate gods between a young alexei and an even younger sajaa. 

The Noveran port was always a busy, bustling affair. Every trade route from Nioro to Valais and out to the warm, wet land of Sajaa’s own home country passed through it, forming a nexus where merchants met to swap gold for brass, silk for coffee and dyes. Workers thronged along the shore, and more moved along the long wooden docks that jutted deep into the harbor. Billows of white sails rose above them like clouds laid low on the horizon. Even from Sajaa’s perch on one of the empty piers, yards away, the sound was deafening, the cries of sailors and hawkers and ordinary citizens forming a storm of sound that rolled and crashed over the entire city. 

She ignored it all. It was not the docks that captured her attention but the water they were built on: the waves dark as wine and foaming with magic, capped with white spray that glistened when it was flung into the air. Movement flickered beneath the water. A scale here, a luminous eye there, a flash of teeth, serrated and razor-sharp, glimpsed in a break between waves.

Creatures, only. Not gods. 

She had made that mistake when she’d first arrived, and gales of laughter had haunted her for weeks afterwards. Here, the gods were amorphous, fluctuating beings shrouded in legend, glimpsed only by their chosen few. There were no temples, no paintings. Even the Archives’ vaults held nothing crafted in their likeness.

The lack only whetted her curiosity, made her want to try and fashion her own image. They would be something wild, she thought, as free and untamed and strange as the ocean. Her mind conjured a body of smashed kindling and bones stripped pale and shining, seaweed threading through it like veins. Perhaps its smile was formed of teeth plucked from the carcasses of sea monsters. 

She’d just bent forward to try and examine one of the creatures for a more accurate rendering when—

“Plotting your escape from here?”

Sajaa startled upright so quickly that she nearly fell off of the quay. A hand caught her sleeve, pulling her away from the edge and then lingering, warm on her elbow. It was Alexei, his mouth in a small smile, the hood of his robes thrown back to expose his face to the sun. The light turned his fair hair impossibly fairer, the strands a halo of white around his face. 

“Careful, Sajaa,” he chided gently. “If you fall in I’d have to come in after you, and I can’t swim.”

A blush rose in her cheeks, painfully hot. She ducked her head forward and prayed the robes hid her face. “Sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking.”

“Deep thoughts, I’m sure. May I join you?”

The quay was deserted save for the two of them and some squabbling gulls, but she moved aside regardless. Alexei stepped up beside her, matching her pose—arms folded into the trailing sleeves of his robes, his shoulder brushing hers companionably. He didn’t ask for the real reason she was out here. He never did. Just stared out across the water and waited, as if he had nothing else more pressing to do than to watch the tide go out with her.

The silence stretched, and stretched, and stretched, until she was desperate to break it and its imagined awkwardness. 

“I’d like to meet one of the pirate gods,” she blurted. The moment the words escaped her she wished to draw them back; they were so childish, so young. Surely Alexei, with his calmness and gravity of manner, had never contemplated such things.

He didn’t seem to mind, though; only tilted his head to one side. “Which one?”

“Any of them.” She searched her mind, grasping for the tales she’d overheard. “The Salted Lady, perhaps.”

“Our Lady of Salt,” Alexei corrected. “She’s not a drink. I didn’t realize you had any interest in them, Sajaa.”

No judgment hid in his words, his voice smooth and gentle as it had been when he’d coaxed her out of hiding after the other initiates had laughed her from the hall. He had been the only who had not mocked her. Who had explained to her, later, in the hushed quiet of the library, how the gods of the sea functioned in Novera.

She gave him a shy shrug.

“The ocean is strange. I want to see what gods it would spawn. Or who would spawn the ocean,” she amended, conscientious of differing theologies. “I’m sure it’s not very interesting to you, though.”

“Not necessarily. When I was a child, I was very fond of stories about one of the pirate gods.” Alexei’s voice was low, almost swallowed by the distant clamor. When she glanced at him his eyes were fixed on the long, blue line of the horizon, narrowed against the sun. “My mother’s sister was a sailor, once, years before I was born. She used to claim she’d traveled all the way to the end of the world and peered over the edge. Certainly she’d met enough pirates to bring tales of their gods back to us.”

Alexei so rarely spoke of home, and even less of childhood. Sometimes it was difficult to remember he had been a child, a boy with scraped knees and tousled hair. No—even as the image took place she corrected it, rewriting the details. Alexei would never have scraped his knees. He was too careful for that by far. The hair, though, yes; and perhaps a book clasped in one hand, the sharp knife of his nose buried deep in its pages.

The thought made her smile. 

“Which one?” she asked. 

“The Mariner.” He laughed, and the sound of it settled to burn, warm and low, in Sajaa’s stomach. “Although our name for him is closer to ‘Ferryman,’ or perhaps ‘Guider.’” 

He fell silent and Sajaa watched a clump of seaweed drift past (hair for her god-body), waiting patiently for him to gather his yarn. When he spoke again his voice had taken on the sing-song slant it gained when he spoke to her of history, or the culture of this strange country.

“According to the stories, he travels the sea on a raft fashioned from a boat so old that the name of it has passed out of history. He has a lantern that burns through any fog and that, if followed, will guide even the most lost of pirates home. The pirates believe every storm survived, every fall that does not end with death, every rope that holds and guard avoided and passage successfully navigated is due to his influence. 

“They also say,” he added, voice taking on a wry quality, “that he binds the souls of sailors in knots of ribbons to keep them safe from harm. I never understood that one; I’d bother my aunt about what he did with them until she made up some lie to appease me and sent me out to play.”

“He sounds nice.”

“Not everyone who guides, Sajaa, can be trusted. Least of all a pirate.” 

There was a bitter edge to his words that surprised her, and when she looked up at him she found a stranger, instead, one with a face remote as a marble statue, his mouth flat and unsmiling. It unsettled her. She wanted, suddenly, desperately, to bring him back to her, to put a smile on his face and a laugh in his words. To turn him back into her friend.

“I will meet the Mariner, then,” she told him, “And I will ask him what he does with the ribbons, so that I may tell you the truth.”

He didn’t laugh at that. But he did smile again, the right side of it higher than the left, the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

“Come, Sajaa. Enough talk of pirates and their gods.” Alexei flung his arm around her, drawing her to him  until the red of their robes bled together and they were a single creature of two heads, one dark and one light, reflected wavering back in the water. “I have a task that needs doing in the real world, and I could use your assistance.”

One last glance at the ocean, at the deep, luring dark of the waves, and then she turned her back on it and pushed deeper into the mundane hum of the docks, steered by Alexei’s arm sure around her shoulders.

[antiquated-dust]

The First

[Warning: The following except contains sensitive content regarding oblique mentions of suicidal ideation. Viewer discretion is advised]

Tell me. What is it like to fly free?

The sky stretched above, unbroken and unending. Clouds doused in ink shivered under the low growl of thunder nearby. They seemed to bulge towards me, crumpling the air from my chest; I welcomed their weight. My toes curled along cool shingles as I outstretched my arms, eyes slipping shut. Light settled on my lids- the sun’s crucifying stare- and for once, I found myself smiling in the face of the endless expanse. It all seemed too vast, somehow, too massive.  As if at any moment the sky and the horizon would collide and sweep everything asunder, joining two existences into one- a clean slate.  And what a comforting thought that was to have at the edge of the world, feeling the birth of a storm woven in gossamer threads.

I was only one step away from finding the answer. From being able to see the world again in the monochrome ambiguity of innocence lost. Yet I stood there against those first few, frigid drops. This fear, this tremble in my soul, was a  paralyzing one. It’d been my constant companion. For so long it drenched my tongue in poison that I’d forgotten how to speak in truths, even to myself.  A breeze whipped past. Heralded by the soft hush of rain trailing along shingled roofs.  I curled into myself and released a wail so long and harsh that it scorched my throat. Such a wild thing. Not a soul heard it; swallowed whole by a crack of thunder.

And a new beginning was marked by my first and only truth.  

***

Night blanketed the streets of Radz-at-han, casting a monochrome dark broken only by the balmy halo of street lamps. Few windows appeared lit from inside. Most of the city slumbered. Their story told in the colors of a bustling market, a treasure remembered in their bones and blood, lay quiet. Empty, even, save for the scuffle of sandals along the terracotta path. A shrouded figure skulked from one pool of shadows to the next, stealing glances over his shoulder at every interval.

Two things weighed on Mishhar’s mind as he slipped from his home in the Kama: his last conversation with Malfud and the gravity of the decision he was about to make. His grip tightened on the satchel at his hip, knuckles turned white. The memory played clear in his mind’s eye as the tapestry of stars above. They spoke over a dinner of spiced wine, zarda, and sheermal prepared that morning by Biyaada. A ritual they’d done each month, long before either found their footing in the world. Back when life was as simple as peddling ceramics for pennies. His younger counterpart smiled, all teeth and no eyes, over the lip of his glass as he retold the dealings of his latest investment. The East Aldenard Trading Company wanted to expand Malfud’s company into Eorzea, a storefront in each city-state. Joy gleamed in Malfud’s eyes as he reached across the table and gather Mishhar’s hands into his own. A promise, spoken with genuine warmth, of a place in this commercial empire was placed in callused palms.

“I will share my prosperity with you,” Malfud had said, “Save you from this destitution as you did me.  And together, we shall dine like kings, my friend.”

A smile drew across Mishhar’s lips, sweetening the wickedness that churned in his chest. The Sisters were cruel for first stripping him of his wealth and now his dignity. O’ so very cruel.

The elder man dipped his head low and pulled at the edges of his cowl. The road he traveled extended out onto a bridge connecting the Kama with Yuji. Rivulets of moonlight seeped through stone arches, twisting his shadow into something far larger than him. Its presence looming, judging, as it eddied him forward.  The darkness sewn to his feet knew what he sought to do. Rumors of a peddler, masked and mysterious, were on the tongues of strangers and spoken into the ears of travelers. No one knew their name nor where they came from. Their presence assumingly birthed from necessity and desperation for they appeared not long after the destruction of the Final Days. Whispers said that they appear on a street corner at a quarter past midnight. A beacon in the dark as they huddle beneath the lamp’s glow, Moogle-mask limned by hair illuminated in crimson. And rarely is the peddler without their devashuni- the black dog whose gaze follows strangers with unrelenting intrigue. Its eyes capable of piercing mortal flesh and seeing through to the deepest pits of the soul.  So long as there is a trade to be made, the peddler and their devashuni will listen; a gift to those with worthy offerings of a remedy for any affliction. Or, so Mishhar was led to believe.

A final stairwell crested onto the Yuji’s promenade, vacant and quiet now. Mishhar eased his steady pace into a hesitant shuffle, feeling the air shift with his own anticipation. Chills danced down his spine as he swallowed hard and tucked himself into the alley’s shadows. He drew in a quiet breath, satchel clutched close to his side, and squeezed his eyes shut. In the distance, the twelfth bell tolled. And he waited in the following quiet. Waited until he forgot he was waiting. Until nothing else existed aside from the dark pressing on his eyelids and the steady stream of his own breath. Then, finally, the soft scuff of nails against stone broke the monotonous silence. The shadows of his mind drew images of the devashuni in colors of malice and fear; eyes that peered into him and saw the wicked thorns encasing his chest. The satchel’s strap dug into his shoulder, reminding him of its weight. A choice, the pain said, only he could make. And as he met the black admissions of his own heart, he felt a tremor in his resolve. His grip on the satchel lightened. His breath released in a quivering stream. His feet remained rooted in place.

The click of nails eventually ceased and the alley drew quiet once again. Though the air grew no lighter and the night no brighter. The peddler, Mishhar knew, had made their claim on the street corner. All of their wares - promises of a new beginning- whispered sweet temptations in tune to the thrum of his chest. He licked the salt from his lips, the taste reminding him of that dinner. Malfud’s grin bobbed to the surface of his churning thoughts and suddenly his blood went cold. Cruel fate would have him kneel - No, grovel at the heel of his inferior copy. All that Malfud had claimed was earned on Mishhar’s back, yet no morsel of glory would be left on the table for him. Nothing but scraps left.

Venom coated his lips as they upturned in a disquiet smile. He hadn’t come this far, spent the last of his gil, to balk at the last second. Resolve coaxed his eyes open, pins and needles crawling ups legs, and forced him to step out from under the cover of night. Around the corner, he peered and saw the first glimpse of the peddler.

She was a spry thing, perched on a planter’s ledge with a knee curled to her chest and chin resting on top. Shorter by full fulm than him and half as broad. Armed with naught but a pair of stiletto daggers and bandolier laden with pouches and vials. The painted smile of her lacquered mask looked dull compared to the crown of fire she wore, and doubly so compared to the small, black bundle of fur she stroked. It was a dog, yes, but certainly not the hound Mishhar had conjured in his mind. The devashuni simply sprawled across the peddler’s lap, snoozing while its master surveyed the promenade with a faux, absent gaze. Mishhar’s brow dipped in a furrow, the sweet venom once coating his lips turned sour as it slowly dripped down into his stomach. He suddenly felt quite foolish.

Mishhar dared a step back and no sooner did he that the woman turned to meet his gaze, plucking him as easily from the shadows as one might a grape from the vine. An airy, smoke-tinged laugh drifted through the air.

“Hello,” she breathed, a smile laced in each note, “Friend.” She outstretched a hand and the dog in her lap stirred. Its eyes fluttered open, endlessly black and glistening like polished marble. The woman beckoned Mishhar closer. “Come into the light. I don’t wish to speak with shades.”

Mishhar released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Slowly, he slithered out from under the shadows and into the lamp’s light. His fingers drummed along his satchel’s strap, unsure if he could speak above a hoarse whisper. He licked chapped lips, casting the dog a wayward glance, before letting his eyes fall to the floor. Even then, he could feel the devashuni’s attention as its gaze caressed every crevice of his soul. “You are,” -his gaze drilled into the cobblestone- “The Alchemist, yes?”

The masked woman breathed a contemplative hum. Then expelled a curt chuff as she waved him off. “Is that what they call me here? Mmmmm’ suppose if it pleases you, then so it shall be. Yes. I am the Alchemist.”  

“Then you’ve a remedy for me.” Mishhar sank to his knees as he began unbuckling his satchel. From its folds, he procured three jars. Two were stuffed with dried ochu vines and the third was accrual of pickled imp wings. He lined them before the Alchemist and turned to her with a pressed smile. “I’ve brought these for you. Only the finest purchased from Bazaar to trade with you.”

He searched the lacquered mask, with its faux eyes and cherry cheeks, for some semblance of interest. Intrigue. He’d even take amusement if it benefited him. But not a flicker of emotion crossed the Alchemist, save for the subtle cant of her head. She nudged the hound from her lap, the devashuni spilling to the ground with a languid yawn. It padded up to the jars, and Mishhar’s heart seized when it gave them a tentative sniff. The seconds between stretched for nearly a what felt like decades. Millennium. Eternity.

Then the hound wagged its tail.

Relief flooded over Mishhar as he expelled a breathless sigh. He shuffled closer, hands upturned to the Alchemist as he continued. “You will trade with me, won’t you?”

The Alchemist shifted on her perch, creating a symphony of chiming vials, and saddled an elbow on either knee. Her painted gaze turned in an exaggerated fashion between each jar before finally settling on him. “What is it,” she began, dropping her chin into an open palm, “That you want?”

His hands fell to his lap and his gaze to the side. “I want…” He spoke barely above a whisper now, stripping pieces of his soul and finding them to the shadows that were tethered to their feet. His stretched, contorted into a shape he no longer recognized. And yet somehow it appeared far smaller than hers- a feeble thing that didn’t know how to navigate the dark. Another quiet breath. Another moment of silence.

Malfud’s smile drifted in a passing breeze, memory of his laughter caught in a strand of wind and scattered like dust.

“I will share my prosperity with you.”

Mishhar rose to his feet and brought his gaze level with the Alchemist. Fear of the dark paled in comparison to the fear of humiliation. “I want,” he continued, ichor seeping into his voice, “A poison.”

His request broke through the night, like a pebble cast into a lake. The ripples stretched in notes of silence as it sank down.

Down. Down. Down.

Their shadows twisted with an unseen current and flooded his heart; surged through his veins; blanketed his skin. Her quiet regard became suffocating, her painted gaze asphyxiating. Mockery heard clear in the puckish grin of her moogle mask. The gravity of his decision finall laid in full upon his shoulders as the devashuni’s eyes bore into his soul; his desire to kill weighed a ton.

“Oh.” A single syllable breathed on an incredulous scoff. The Alchemist leaned back on her palms, head canted to one side. “You weren’t going to add anything to that, were you?” She hummed. A mixture of amusement and disappointment. “I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“What?” Mishhar spat the word, lips pulled in an abhorrent snarl. “But you promised something for every affliction- for every cause! You are held on the same pedestal of legends, yet you deny me aid?”

The Alchemist hitched her chin back. Then shook her head with a half-hearted laugh that seared his cheeks. “I promised you nothing.” She outstretched her hand, beckoning her hound hither. The small, black dog retreated to sit quietly at its master’s side, tail still pendulating. “You’ve drawn your own conclusions; however, I misspoke. It is not that I can’t help, but that I won’t.”

All the air seemed to escape his lungs. His hands fell to his sides as he stared down at the jars lined at his feet. “I don’t understand… These are the finest goods I could purchase. The devashuni accepted them. Is this not a fair trade?”

“First off” - the Alchemist upheld a single finger which she twirled in the air then used to point at her companion- “This is a dog. The level of sentience you’ve assigned her is neither applicable nor relevant.” She flicked up a second digit to join the first. “Secondly, you’ve brought me absolute garbage. Common wares. Pantry items.” She slipped off her perch and came to stand before him. “As a man of Radz-at-han, surely you’re aware of Alchemy’s First Law.” She brought either hand level to her chest, palms upturned and teetering like the plates of a scale. “To obtain anything of worth, you must give something of equal value. Most adequately put by the Nald’thal’s devotees: As Above, So Below. Now, do you honestly believe that what you’re about to give is equal to what you wish to take?”

Mishhar deflated under the woman’s scrutiny, her words slipping under his ribs like little daggers. His eyes fell once more and watched as all his dreams drained away into the gutters. “There is nothing else,” he whispered, “I have left to trade.”

“Then there is nothing,”-her breath warm at his ear- “I have for you.”

He bristled at the touch. But when he whipped around, hand raised, she had retreated from under the lamp’s light and into the shadows. His eyes narrowed in a lethal point. “You are a cruel woman.”

“Think me unkind if you wish, but I am simply maintaining the balance of Equal Exchange.”  The Alchemist placed a finger to her mask’s lip. So small, she appeared, without the aid of her high perch. Dull and faded without the filter of a warm glow. A legend turned into a shade before his very eyes. Yet no less ominous as some unseen force stilled the anger from his twitching fingers; bade him to stay his wrathful hands. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself, unhurried. Unbothered. Or the daggers that gleamed in the wane light, shine met in equal measure by the vials chiming at her belt. Or perhaps it neither- perhaps it was the way the shadows embraced her form with a certain, intangible familiarity; as if she were the candle that beckoned the dark. 

“You see…” The Alchemist stepped further back, turning from a shade to a silhouette, then to a shadow, then to nothing but a disembodied voice. “That is my first and only truth… I’ll humor you again, Mishhar, when you bring me something of worth.”  

The Yuji’s promenade became vacant again save for a cloaked figure and his jars of hollow dreams.

[di-kut]

Fairy Dust

Pairing: Fem Reader x Ezra (Prospect) 

Word Count: 16k i kNOW

Rating: MA (Extremely explicit sex scenes I don’t know what else to tell ya)

Summary: While collecting rare gems on an unpopular prospecting planet you are both infected with a sex pollen. (Porn with a mild attempt at plot?) 

Warnings: Ok saddle up boys here we go Dirty talk, oral sex (m/f receiving), sex pollen, elements of dub con implied (although they do not do the do while under the influence!), non-established dom/sub dynamic, masturbation, orgasm denial, pharmaceutical drug use, saliva/cum play, nipple play, breath play, overstimulation (sorta), multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, clit slapping, unprotected sex, pleading, general kind of explicit sexual things 

A/N: This is 29 A4 pages of absolute porn. I really can’t make a single excuse for this. As always this started as something much smaller and got way WAY out of hand. There is lots of yearning and pining in this for a sex pollen fic, and also lots of sex so there’s that. Um pls be kind to me? 

The ground is soggy from the downpour. Your boots sink into the mud and stick. It’s hard going to climb out of the valley, even now, long after the rain has ended. You hike your case higher against you, have to pause and flex your hold around it. Heavy with a cargo which has made the whole descent worth every sodden footstep and fighting against the rain. A rare aquatic gem encased in a bloom which only surfaced during complete submersion. A field of water flowers, nothing but green swaying grass under the sun, suddenly appearing after the rain flooded the valley. The whole planet covered in flora which changed with the weather, almost terraformed with the climate.

The hill is steep, green except for the worn path of mud you had tracked into the grass on the way down it. The peak is near now, grass swaying lazily against a brilliant blue sky. The pod is over the rise, down in the next valley. You dig your feet into the sliding earth, feel it try to pull you back down the hill and into the gorge below, still filled with crystalline pools of clear water. No longer glistening with the purple heads of the gems, those are stowed in your cases. Enough to set you up for months. A year maybe. Rare enough that they will fetch a high price, high enough to have a holiday even. You smile at the thought, forget to check your steps and you shift your weight onto a patch of sliding mud. You stagger, yell, nearly drop. The earth beneath you keeps shifting down, pulls you with it. A hand catches your elbow, stops you from your inevitable fall back down the hill.

“Are you alright, Starlight?”

Ezra’s voice sounds distant through the earpiece. Crackles with static. Your heart is pounding, you can feel it sitting at the back of your throat. You twist your helmet around far enough to look at him and nod. He helps you right yourself, lets you hold onto his arm until you get your balance again.

You continue your climb. The hill wants to slide out from beneath you. Every footstep less steady than the last as you reach the top, the landscape more battered by the rain so close to the peak of the hill. But you don’t slip again, and Ezra is steady on his feet behind you. When you crest the top of the peak the sun emerges from the clouds still curled around the horizon, a halo of threatening grey, the cracking of thunder just audible, carried over the endless lulls of valleys and peaks. A surface of craters – each one filled with a forest, or a lake, or a jungle, on and on, disappearing into the distance. The storm seems far away, but the planet is not just unpopular for prospecting because the gems are hard to find. The weather systems fluctuate quickly, and change can happen in minutes. You eye the clouds with distrust, even as the valleys all around you are bathed in golden afternoon light.

Your breathing bounces around between your headsets, the echo of your own breathing reverberating back to you through the Ezra’s mouthpiece. He stops beside you, balances his case between his feet and sighs. Puts his hands on his hips and stares out with you. A beautiful planet, really, if you can forget the threat of the weather.

“One certainly does crave for the smell of dampened soil.”

“Ezra…” You warn.

“The atmosphere is perfectly breathable, I checked multiple times.”

“Don’t – ”

But he is lifting his arm and releasing the helmet. Movements sure and easy with his only remaining hand. He had been clumsy at it still, when you had first met him, just months after he had lost his right arm. But he no longer avoids your offers for help – doesn’t need them. He holds his helmet against his cocked hip and makes a show of sucking in a long breath. Turn his head to peer at you from the corner of his eye.

You sigh. “It might not be safe.”

“You shall have to take your helmet off, Starlight, without the assistance of our earpieces I cannot hear you.”

“I know you can hear me,” you mutter.

He chuckles at you and the sound curls the familiar sensation of tingling deep in the pit of your stomach. Ezra lets his eyes slip closed, a light breeze ruffling his hair, pushing it up and away from his face. Without the helmet you can see the shape of his profile, strong against the distant clouds. Skin glowing golden in the sunlight, blond streak almost white. You study the lines of his brow, the hook of his nose. Give yourself this moment while he is distracted to commit this memory of him to the same place you keep all precious memories of Ezra. Secret and deep. Almost let yourself think for a moment what it would be like if you took your helmet off too, if you gave in to him. But his eyes are fluttering open and you turn away.

You start the trek back down the other side of the slope. The pod is within sight now, nestled in against the tree line, facing out over a sodden field. Ezra is laughing at you, at your stubbornness. He calls something teasing you ignore, do not let the flood of colour rush to your cheeks. Concentrate on the squelching of your boots through the mud, and the sounds of his joining you as well, never far behind.

His voice marks a constant melody behind you, a soothing sound after almost two years. It’s deep and clear without the static of the helmet to interfere, rings out around you as he chatters. Content mostly just for you to listen, as he always is. The way down is easier than the way up had been, not so steep as the other side of the hill. Your case is heavy enough that you have to lean against its weight at steeper parts. The gloves of your suit are covered in mud from the extraction, so are the knees and fronts of your legs. You are glad a second trip won’t be required to make the journey worthwhile. Glad you will be able to wait out the departure safe from the rain and the storms from the inside of the pod. You glimpse at Ezra, can’t help the fond smile you don’t let him see. Think he was made for this, really, to be always exploring under the shine of the sun.

“We shouldn’t stay out here too long, Ezra.”

He has stopped at the base of one of the trees. Almost fifty metres from the pod. It’s not a tall tree, only Ezra’s height twice again, but its trunk is thick, broad enough that if you stood on either side of it your hands would not touch his. The bark is a smooth grey, covered over with glistening moss, still wet from the downpour. He’s close to it, staring up at something in the canopy above. His helmet pressed between his arm and his hip, the case hanging from his hand below. Small droplets of water occasionally fall from shuddering leaves, catch the light as the drop, the air filled with gems all around him.

“The flora of this planet truly renders one speechless.” He ignores your warning. “A blossoming kaleidoscopic gallery which changes with the weather.”

He places his case on the ground, then his helmet. Tilts his head at you to come closer. You step towards him, close the distance between you with sticky steps. He points up at something, whatever had caught his attention. You stop next to him and turn to see it. The canopy is not far above your heads, a dark leafy green shade from the blue of the sky. Drooping under the weight of the rainfall. Nestled in the green there are buds, yellow and small. They are what has captured Ezra, flowers unopened. Invisible when you had passed through hours before on your way from the pod, but now under the bloom of the sun they are opening. You stand together, shoulder to shoulder under the leaves, watching as dozens, hundreds of them appear above you. More of the local plants which change with the weather, just like your gems. Hidden away, something secret and magical. You can’t deny him this, this little piece of wonder in such a cruel world. Couldn’t deny him anything, not really. You will never tell him that, because the world is cruel, and has been cruel to you both. And you trust him. Know you will never find another partner like him. So it stays within you, locked away, with the little pieces of happiness you find with him. His smile, face turned towards the sun.

He’s watching you, when you turn. His skin golden in the sunlight. Magical himself. And then the blossoms open above you, not flowers after all. Petal-less buds which release a floating snow of yellow pollen which drifts through the air. Settles against his shoulders and into his hair. His smile is soft, changes when you catch his eye. He lifts his hand and knocks his fist  gently against your helmet.

“Rather like fairy dust,” he says quietly. Pinches some of it from where it’s settled on your suit and holds it up between you. Blows it away. The pollen in the air between you comes to life, from a drifting snow to a dance, twisting and writhing through the air on his breath. “Do you think it would heal our wounds, Starlight? Bless the paint which brushes our lives with luck as well?” His eyes glimmer, playfully conspiratorial. Drawing you in towards him, in the way Ezra has of making you feel a part of something. A confidant. “Shall we bottle some, do you think?”

“We’d need a lot.”

He laughs. “That we would.” He closes his eyes and inhales. Exhales. Makes the yellow clouds of pollen chase each other through the air. “The aroma is divine. You ought to smell it.”

You sigh. “Just because the atmosphere is breathable…”

“The helmets were merely to protect our persons from the deluge and keep us from discomfort.” He hikes his own helmet up on his hip as if to demonstrate. “I have not come to harm from the removal of my own.”

“Yet.”

You fidget for a moment, think about saying no. But you can’t, not when he is smiling at you like that, like maybe if you remove the helmet you can make him happy. Like you are someone important. He doesn’t hide his emotions like you, he wears them open and honest on his face and in his eyes. A trait so at odds with his profession. You think he might want you, sometimes, when he looks at you like this. But know him well enough to know he is a wanderer, and that craving your body, after weeks alone in space, is very different to wanting you forever. The way you might know you want him, if you would ever let yourself think about it.

So you place your case carefully between your feet as well and lift your hands to your helmet. It releases with a soft hiss of the pressure and a click and you pull it away. The air is cool and sharp. The soil smells of rain. Ezra is right. The smell of the pollen is incredible. Sweet and sharp and bright. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelt before. Intoxicating, almost. Even more after the staleness of the air in your helmet and in your pod. You can smell him as well, a more familiar smell through the pollen. His eyes are catching the sunlight, the brown shifting between shade and light, sometimes golden sometimes orange and sometimes almost black. More beautiful than the trees and the dancing yellow pollen and the gems in your cases.

“Wonders of the universe, hey?” Ezra murmurs. He’s studying your eyes as intensely as you are studying his.

You throat closes a little. He leans towards you and you shrug away from him. Turn your head to hide your blush. “We should get back to the pod.”

You pick up your helmet in one hand and your case in the other. Ezra is quiet the rest of the walk. Your hair becomes coated with a fine yellow dust, your eyelashes, the tip of your nose. It lands on your shoulders and sticks to the mud on your suit. You feel the gnawing of guilt in your stomach, know you were too quick to turn. Too sharp with him. You turn back several times, get so far as opening your mouth to apologise. But he is staring at the ground beneath his feet, brows furrowed. As he has been other times when you have broken away too soon, when there has been a moment building between you. Only for you to shut it down. Close yourself off.

The pod is cool inside. You brush off the worst of the pollen outside it in silence. Awful, unfamiliar silence. Step inside and remove your suits without a word. But the tension breaks when you giggle at the cloud of yellow which puffs into the air when Ezra shakes his head. He laughs with you, and you settle back into normal, fall into your easy routine. Ezra stores the gems away while you pack the suits, try to get the worst of the pollen off them by shaking them out the door. Pack them away. Dinner; protein bars and supplements and flasks of water. Ezra has a field guide up for the planet, is flicking through the local flora and telling you anything which catches his fancy, reads out descriptions with a melody they do not deserve. It lulls you, makes your stomach turn more than normal. You catch his eyes resting on your face or your body several times before he looks away. It makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

“Ah look,” he says, kicks his feet up onto the bunk. You are still wearing your undersuit, a thick warm lining, but Ezra has shucked his, is wearing only his compression clothing. Your eyes linger where his shirt has ridden up and reveals a sliver of skin over his hipbone. “Our magical tree outside. Not a remnant of some fairy civilisation I’m afraid, and rather well documented.”

You hum encouragingly, distracted.

“Wide trunk… short height… a wider family of flowering trees which covers the planet’s surface. Names after a botanist… species is known for its pink flowers – ”

“It’s flowers weren’t pink.”

“Let me finish, if you would be so kind. Known for its pink flower which do not pollinate, as the pollen is enclosed in a separate yellow bract rather than the sepals of the petals. The pollen is of renown – maybe we should have bottled it – due to its – ”

He cuts himself off. You are fiddling with the zip of your undersuit, still staring at the gap between his shirt and pants. It takes several long moments of silence for you to be able to draw your gaze away from his skin and up to his face. “Renown due to?”

He is gone pale. Stares blankly at his screen.

“Ezra?” You straighten. “Ezra, what’s wrong? The pollen, what is it?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Is it poisonous?” You are oddly calm. Start running an inventory of the contents of your med kit, try to remember how long since you’d been exposed to it. “Ezra, are we in danger?”

“No,” he croaks. “It’s not poisonous.”

You deflate back against your bunk. Throw an empty protein bar packet in his direction and huff. Want to kick him in his shin for the dramatics. “You scared me. Don’t – ”

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You blink at him. “A… A what?”

“An aphrodisiac. It’s harvested for its high potency but it difficult to acquire because of the plant’s unique quality of blooming in certain conditions. The buds are only visible when exposed to extended periods of rainfall, and release pollen only under UV light.” He’s still reading the article aloud. His face slack in horror. “It contains hallucinogenic properties, and is known to create both psychological and physiological – ”

“Ezra, plain English, please.” You say. “So it’s – it’s what? We’re going to be horny?”

“Incomparably aroused.” He looks at you and then away again. Starts to flick through other articles with desperation. “It’s a hallucinogenic. It will not simply make us feel horny, we will be unable to think of anything else. It will make us feel things, phantom sensations, we will experience corporeal responses without other stimulation.”

You blanche. “Maybe it’s the wrong tree, maybe it’s – ”

“It’s not the wrong tree.”

“So what do we do?” You feel too hot, the space around you is suddenly too small and your undersuit too heavy. You think it must be a trick of your mind, but paranoia makes the flush worse.

Ezra clicks through article after article. He estimates you have maybe an hour before it takes effect, maybe less. The pollen was generally harvested, and the chemicals extracted to use as additives for drugs. There is next to nothing on direct inhalation. Not documented, not tested. He tells you it should only last a few hours – three to four. But you can feel your hands shaking, are only half listening. He’s speaking so quickly now, and you curl your feet onto the bed in front of you, wrap your arms around your knees. Was the flush from nerves or from the pollen? Were you shaking because of it as well? Ezra is still talking.

“What?” You say. Head shooting up.

“It does not seem to matter if you… if you finish. The effects of the pollen will not dissipate until it leaves your system.”

Your face colours. “Okay. Okay. Four hours though, that’s what you said.” You think you must look sick. You feel sick, as if all the blood has left you. “We’re both adults, we can just,” but you can’t even finish the sentence. Stare down at your knees.

Ezra makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

.

It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. The walls around you have started to blur. The bright white lights in the pod are too much, hurt the space behind your eyes. You shuffle to the edge of the bed and swing your legs to the ground. Feel the buzzing in your hands and feet. The switch has never felt so far away, and yet the air around you keep compressing, the walls closing in. It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour. Twenty minutes at most and you feel like your mouth is full of wool and your head too. Ezra has turned on his side, his back to you, the quiet sound of his long deliberate breathing the only noise he makes. You finally reach the switch, grasp at it with shaking hands. Ezra turns over his good shoulder, and you catch the sight of his hair – wet and flattened to his head.

“Don’t – ”

But you already have the lights dimmed. Still bright enough to see, but not painful anymore. Ezra seems vivid even in the dim, like he’s brought into hyper-focus, safe and solid in the pulsating world around you. Without thinking you begin to shuffle towards him. Lick your lips. Think maybe it would be better to stay close to him. Would make you feel better.

“What are you doing?” He pushes himself up on his arm, half facing you. The prominent muscles of his neck straining at the twist.

“I – I – ” You shake your head. Try to clear it of the fuzzy feeling which has settled over your thoughts. Suck in a deep breath which doesn’t reach your lungs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the pollen.” He’s short. You can hear the tension in his jaw. See the ticking of the muscle under the skin. It distracts you. He kicks his foot to get your attention. “Lie down. Over there.”

You listen without question; the commanding tone sends a lick of heat up your spine. Your knees buckle when they hit your bunk, and you fall against it, boneless. Suddenly weak. It’s so hot. You can feel sweat forming along your top lip, sink over your brow and into your hair. You push the strands away with shaking hands, shove it back off your face. It’s too hot in the pod. Your mouth is so dry. So hot. The undersuit, you’re still wearing it, and your compression clothes beneath. Ezra has lowered himself back to the mattress, stares at the wall ahead of him, but his whole body jerks when he hears the pull of your zip. You turn your head to the side to watch him, stare at his back. Watch his shoulders pull tight through his thin compression shirt, damp with sweat. Watch the muscle tense. Catch your tongue between your teeth. His neck is so tight you can see every dip, see the veins stand out beneath the skin.

You get the zip undone and start to wriggle your arms free. The cold air of the pod is a relief until Ezra groans, deep and pained. The sound shoots down your spine, sparks across your lower back and into your stomach. Makes your cunt pulse. You echo the sound back at him, feel your body temperature climb again, impossibly. You slump, half out of the suit, your skin feels like the crackle of static, alive and humming. You are on fire. Can feel your chest and stomach and the creases beneath your breasts growing slick with sweat. You shift in the suit, still halfway down your waist, and the inseam of the crotch catches against your underwear. Without thinking, without meaning to, you are bending your knees, digging the heels of your feet into the bed and pulling yourself down. Feel the thickness of the seam, too much and not enough all at once dig into you and your back curves. Relish in the feeling of friction, and the release which dribbles, stick and warm, down your slit.

You choke on another moan.

Ezra is so stiff he is almost shaking. Pulled so taut he might snap. You can’t take your eyes off him, watch the way his ragged breathing fills him and rushes out again. Like he’s been running. Sweat soaking through his shirt now, making it cling to him. His voice is cracked and hoarse. “Be quiet.”

You can’t help it. Another moan slips out before you can stop it, louder at the sound of his voice. You bend your knees again and work your hips against the inside of the suit. Become aware of how swollen your cunt is, tingling. Worse than tingling. Somehow better. Your legs are shaking, breath coming in fast pants. It’s too loud in the pod, bounces around and comes back to you. Makes you dimly embarrassed, a small place in the back of your mind is mortified. But you can’t concentrate on why, can’t hold any thought in your head long enough to remember why you shouldn’t give in. Can’t remember why you’re holding back from the throbbing need in the first place.

“Ezra.” It’s too breathy. Too soft. That’s what you want, you realise. The taste of his name in your mouth makes it fill, hot and wet. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. “It’s hurting.”

“It’s the pollen.” His voice is tight. He turns his head enough that you can see a sliver of cheekbone. “A few hours, remember? Then it will be over.”

The pod is getting hotter. You are getting hotter. Your breasts ache, you feel your nipples hardening, feel them catch against the sweat drenched fabric of your singlet and it stings. Another throb, so long you think it won’t end, makes you whimper. And then. Wet. Not dribbling, leaking. Flowing. The suit is still tangled around your legs. Your hands are shaking so badly you have to kick at it to get it off, manage to catch it and have it twisted around one ankle. Finally kick it onto the floor. Your compression pants are slick, and you are vibrating. Weak. The heat is still growing even now the suit is gone, like you are on fire. You still haven’t looked away from Ezra.

“You were in it for longer,” you say. Barely get the words out. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “You had – had – ” a barely stifled moan “ – had your helmet off. For so long. Why aren’t you like this?”

He swallows loud enough that you can hear it. “I am well practiced. This feeling is one I am quite used to concealing from you.” His voice is like honey. Fills your head and your mouth and your body with syrup. But the words. The words make you weak. Make you utter another quiet whimper. “The effects of the pollen will wear off in a few hours, Starlight.”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound which threatens to escape from it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You realise you can smell yourself. It makes you dizzy. And him. The sharp scent of his sweat on hot skin. Familiar. Unbearable. You kick your legs out, hit your head back against the bunk and fist your hands into the sheets. Struggle to hold on to the embarrassed part of your mind, feel it slipping away. Try to stop your hands from reaching between your legs at his confession.

“Ezra.” It’s almost a sob. “Ezra, please.”

“I ask of you only that you are quiet,” he says. Tight, pained. “Whatever you do to deal with – with this, just do it quietly. I can’t – it’s – ”

You have never heard him stumble before. Not with words. Never with words. You think sometimes that he must know them all, certainly knows many more than you. So much of your time together has been filled with his voice, wrapped in them, the way he rolls them in his mouth and holds them. But now he has none. And instead of being filled with his words, the space between your is hot and pulsing. Fills with other things. Aching.

You forget your embarrassment.

“We could, we could help each other.” You lick you lips. Pull yourself up onto your elbows with shaking arms. “We could deal with it together.”

“No.”

“Ezra!” It’s a petulant wail. His chest is heaving. The smell of him is everywhere, all around you. Mixing with the smell of you. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“I said be quiet.” He snarls at you. Full of venom. This is the Ezra he is with other prospectors. The Ezra that steals and kills. Cruel. Mean. The sting of tears in your eyes well and slip and fall. And still you feel your cunt weep with you.

“Do you… do you hate me?”

“No.”

“You do! Why else would you make me hurt like this?” A full sob works its way up your throat. Nearly chokes you. Makes your breathing stutter. “I only want you to touch me. You hate me so much you won’t even touch me.”

He says your name. Not Starlight. Says it with a bite which stings and clears your head long enough for you to finally wrench gaze away from him. You turn your head, press it against the cool wall of the pod nearest you. Close your eyes so tightly white bursts behind your lids and crushes your lashes against your cheeks. You try to breathe, but every mouthful is full of the taste of you both. You try to concentrate. And Ezra is panting as well, ragged and loud. Sounds closer, and you turn your head back to him, and realise your mistake. He has pushed himself back up onto his good arm and twisted to stare at you over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, face dripping with sweat, hair wet with it. Compression shirt almost transparent against the heaving mass of his chest. His mouth hangs open with his breath. You have to bite your lip, roll it into your mouth and dig your teeth into it hard enough to sting.

He is furious. “Do not speak to me as if I have no heart. It is because of my heart I am denying you.”

“Why?” You don’t understand him. “Why don’t you just – ”

“Stop.”

He twists fully now. Rolls onto his back. Your eyes follow his length, slip over his chest and stomach and – you think you might die. Think you will explode. His cock is tented in his compression pants. Even in the dim you can see the shape of it pressed against the grey fabric. The thickness of it. See the dark patch around the head where it leaks precum. Such a huge patch you think surely, truly, he must have already come. Know he hasn’t. You press your legs together with a strangled moan.

“Be quiet!” He squeezes and his eyes shut at the sound.

You writhe against the mattress. “All I want is for you to touch me Ezra, please, please, why don’t you want – ”

“Do you know how badly I crave you?” He cuts you off. “Do you know how often I have dreamt of you, like this, begging me to take you? How many times I have dreamt of fucking your cunt? Of the taste of you? God,” he makes a sound, half deranged. It might have been a laugh in a different time, a different place. “Have you any conception of the ways I have imagined having you? How many nights we have laid here while you sleep, and I bit my fist to stop myself from waking you while I come all over my hand?”

You heart must have stopped. Must have swollen until it was too large for your chest and been crushed. Outgrown its place. Blocked your lungs as well because you can’t breathe.

But he’s still going. Still talking.

“I have had to fuck my hand for months. Pretend it was your pussy. Or your mouth. Your pretty little mouth. And every night you are there, not four feet from me, oblivious and dreaming. I think of you licking up all my cum, cleaning it off my fingers. Fucking it straight down your throat. Fuck.” His words become lost in the deep groan which forces its way out of his mouth. His dick jumps in his pants. “Fuck.”

You are clenching around nothing, the tightness in your stomach and centre coiled so badly now it is painful. You pull your feet up nearer to you so you can lift your hips off the bed and grind them into nothing, into the air. Tears of frustration slip, never so frustrated before, so desperate and shaking. You hold the sheets tighter, know once you touch yourself you won’t be able to stop, but coming won’t help. The symptoms won’t stop until the pollen leaves your system. You drop your hips back to the bed with a harsh sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Ezra is breathless, groaning in response to every sound your make. You are so wet it has soaked through your compression pants, down around the crux of your thighs and into the seat of your underwear. Mixing with sweat. Sliding between your lips and your cheeks and making the drag of the fabric against you almost painful.

“Keep going. Ezra, please.”

“Don’t. Don’t make me… not fair.”

“Love your voice.” You twist. Jerk your hips forward against the bunk. “Could… could come to just your voice. Wouldn’t – wouldn’t even need to touch myself.”

The sound he makes is tormented. Guttural and deep. Sparks through you. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit. This is torture, it must be. Condemned for every lascivious thought I have had of you. Punished more my lewd cogitations. Every time I have pictured your pussy. Thought of what my dick would look like filling you up.” He chokes on the words. “I have imagined fucking you on every surface of this damnable pod. And the pod before that and the one before that.”

“Please Ezra. Please. I want you to fuck me. Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You are looking him when he opens his eyes. He looks wild. Almost unhinged. He sucks his lips between his teeth and hisses when he rolls them back out. Is staring at the hardened buds beneath your drenched singlet. His breathing cracks, and for a moment, a second, you think he is going to break and move towards you.

“No.” It’s drawn out. Hard for him to say. He closes his eyes and faces the ceiling. “No. Do not make such requests of me. Not now. It’s not fair to ask me to take you now when you will surface from this haze and hate me for it. You will hate me for all of it.”

“I won’t.” Quiet. Timid. Desperate.

“You wish to hear my fantasies? Do you want to know what all of my fantasies of you have in common?” He waits. He is looking at you again, and he waits until you have focused on him. “In every way I have imagined you, in every way I have dreamed of taking you, you have wanted me as badly as I want you, Starlight.”

You can’t say anything. Your tongue is lead in your mouth. You are throbbing so relentlessly it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. The pain at the base of your stomach is growing, spreading, and you feel like your limbs are beginning to lock down. You have to roll onto your side and curl around yourself. More fluid moves at the action, leaking over your lips and thighs and soaking into the sheets below you. It somehow makes everything worse. It’s too much. So much. You are too full and not full enough. All you can think about is the feeling of him pushing inside you, tearing you apart, pounding into you as relentlessly as your cunt throbs for him. You sob again.

“I want you Ezra. I do, I do want you.”

“You would want anyone,” he spits. “It’s the pollen. You’ve been drugged.”

“But I want you! I always want you!”

“You think you do but you will live through this and then you will not want me anymore.” He turns over his good arm again and rolls onto his side. Faces away from you again. “This is torture enough for a lifetime of sins. I can’t – ”

You aren’t sure where the strength comes from, but you know you must move. Your body screams to move towards him, almost convinces you he will make the pain fade. You hold onto one thought, the sound of the pain in his voice, hold it tight as you can and roll yourself out of your bunk. He flinches away from you at the sounds of movement, and you almost forget yourself when you see his hips jerk involuntarily. Mouth-watering, knowing he must feel the need for you as desperately as you need for him. But you can’t. You burn the sound of his pleas across every thought you have and stumble to the corner of the pod, struggle to open the compartment with shaking hands, and when you do you drop the med kit on the floor. You are vibrating, and if you had thought you couldn’t see before then now it is blindness. You blunder through the kit, splaying its contents half onto the ground around it before you find the packet. A packet full of pills the size of pin heads, but powerful. Meant to be for adjusting to new planets time cycles. Getting back to Ezra’s bunk is easier than moving away from it, invisible strings inside you pulling you to him.

“Here,” you say. Voice hoarse like you’ve been screaming. Grates at your throat. “Ezra.”

“What?” He doesn’t turn.

“Sleeping pills. They… they can knock us out.”

He turns his head, just enough to see you. Up close he looks worse. Better, so much better. His pupils are blown so wide the brown around them is barely visible. His pillow drenched in sweat. His face is flushed, the back of his neck and ears and forehead are red. His mouth open in wet pants. You crumple, drop to your knees in front of him, or risk throwing yourself into the bed with him. You drop the pill on his pillow, think if you touch him you will snap and give in. He’s looking at you the same, like if you move wrong he will not be able to stop himself. You lift your pill to your lips.

“Wait – ” He says. “The pollen, the pills, we don’t – we don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Ezra.” You feel a hot tear slip down your cheek. Your singlet and your compression tights hurt your skin where they touch you. The cold of the floor is burning against your legs and hand. The air around you is almost too much. “I won’t get through this. It hurts too much.”

You swallow the pill before he can stop you.

He says something, but the sound of his voice is too much. You stumble off your knees and towards the wet room. Your control is stretched taut within you, about to snap. Kneeling next to his bunk you can smell more of him, see more. You get to the door and it takes your shaking hands two tries to get it open. You catch him slip his pill between his lips and swallow, and the flex of the muscles in his neck nearly has you trip over yourself to get back to him. But you slam the door closed between you. Slump immediately into a cold wall and slide down it until you’re crouched against the plastic floor. The wet room is tiny, nothing more than an insulated storage cupboard with a hose and shower nozzle. The pills are strong, you lean back against the wall, feel them mixing with the effects of the pollen so that the world swims before your eyes. You close your eyes. Try and count your breathing. You try to count three times and lose count every time. You can’t feel the floor beneath you. Can’t feel the wall behind you. The world is slipping so that it is only the fire of your muscles and the throbbing between your legs. Time warps into a tunnel, feel like you are suspended and falling through it at the same time.

There is no world around you when you finally shove the heel of your palms between your legs. Don’t care when you start moaning, writing against it. You couldn’t remember your own name if someone asked, where you were. Anything. Your knees drop out, one against the floor and the other shoved against the wall in the tight space. You head knocks hard against the wall behind you. You shove your other hand down, unwilling to stop rocking your hips into your palm until you can get the tips of your fingers down your compression pants and find your clit. The first roll over the bundle of nerves makes you scream. Forces it up out of some place in your stomach and up, up through your chest and throat. You do not ease yourself forward, you rub against the throbbing spot with enough force that your arm shakes from the effort. Stop long enough to pull the tights down your thighs so you can rub your clit and sink your fingers into your pulsing cunt at the same time. The knot in your stomach becomes unbearable. Your cunt spasms and clenches around your fingers, three of them, and still you feel empty, and yet somehow so full you are almost sick with it. Keening. Desperate. You are speaking, blabbering nonsense. Your hips jerk off the floor.

But there is no release.

You have no idea how long you lie there, rubbing yourself, fucking yourself with your fingers before you give up. Boneless and whimpering. Sobbing. You can feel how wet you are, feel it all over the floor beneath you and smeared up over your wrist. You drop your hands, the blackness closing around your peripheries enough to dull the burning. The sleeping pill clouds the last of your consciousness and you slip.

When you wake the first time it is sweating and with the dream taste of Ezra in your mouth. An imaginary taste you have conjured many times before this but made to feel so real by the pollen. You’re panting so fast they begin to run together, your body trembling and shaking. The wall of the wet room is hard and cold against your back. You don’t even have to touch yourself to come when the memories of your drug induced sleep return to you, the dream of Ezra’s cock heavy on your tongue and full to the back of your throat. Your release is so long and intense you slump further into the ground. Your forehead against the door. You are barely conscious of the shock tremors afterwards, of the jolting aftershocks of the pollen and dream induced orgasm. The place just below your stomach is still as tight as before.

You fade in and out, the sleeping pill enough to keep you under most of the time. You wake a few more times, coming or on the edge of it. Have slipped into a dark place where everything except the buzzing of your body does not exist. The pollen continues to conjure hallucinations, the feel of hands all over you, impossibly hot and rough, of being filled and fucked, again and again. Ezra. Always Ezra. Haunting you.

Hours after crawling into the wet room, your sweat has broken. Shivering, drenched and pressed against the cold walls in the tight space. You are dizzy, can taste the sourness of dehydration coating your mouth and the back of your throat. You yank the door open again, can’t walk, so you fumble on hands and knees to the water and raise a flask with shaking hands. Drink three of them. You get to your bunk and pull of your clothes – wet and dripping with cold sweat – throw them at the foot of your mattress. Defeated and exhausted when you pull the sheets over yourself. Cold. Ezra is quiet, a still ball on his bunk, still facing the wall. You wait until you see him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Let yourself give into the relief of exhaustion.

.

When you wake next it is to the sound of rain against the roof of the pod. There is a deep aching in your limbs and the muscles around your stomach, but no burn of satisfaction to ease the pain. You are still dehydrated. Eyelids like sandpaper against your eyes, so you don’t open them. You can barely roll over you are so stiff. The rain sounds heavy. Another torrential flood.

You drift for some time in the place between wakefulness and sleep. You can hear Ezra, awake and moving around the pod, bare feet against the floor. He stops near you and he pulls the sheet higher over your shoulder where it has slipped, covering your bare back from the cool air. Pulls a heavier blanket over you as well. You continue to wander, sometimes dreaming. Sometimes listening to the sounds of him moving about, the hose turn on in the wet room. Turn off again sometime later. Smell the soap when Ezra emerges and feel the waft or warm, steaming air against the top of your head. Not long after his hand is on your covered shoulder, gently shaking.

“Starlight.” He says. “You need to drink. Wake up.”

He waits until you start to move, wraps his arm beneath you to help you to sit. Holds up the blanket when it falls and tugs it tighter around your shoulders. Gives you water and a protein bar and leaves you. You stare at the things in your hands, then at his back. Feel like you are floating.

And then the day before begins to bleed into your thoughts like a poison, and as you wake the horror of embarrassment makes it impossible to sit still. You can’t look at Ezra, where he crouches with his back to you not three feet away. Digging through the med kit you had left on the floor. You force yourself to eat but the protein bar tastes like cardboard in your mouth. You are hyperaware of your nudity, feel small and exposed, and you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders as high around you neck as it will go. Think of Ezra opening the door to the wet room to find the mess you had undoubtedly left there. Think of yourself begging him to fuck you while he desperately refused. You feel sick.

He brings the med kit to you. You can’t look at him, can feel his eyes searching your face. He sighs and gently reaches for the blanket. You flinch before he can reach it and he drops his hand.

“I will not hurt you. I assure you.” He shows you his empty palm. “I only wish to ensure you are well. I need to check if you are still suffering any effects of the pollen.”

You shake your head, hold your hands against your chest beneath your shield of bedding. “I’m not.” Your voice is raw from screaming and then hours of sleep. You think he must hate you. Must hate you for being so weak.

“I need to check.” His voice is so gentle. So soft. “May I please have your hand?”

You do not move, can’t look at him. And then you slowly release your hold on yourself and worm one hand out through the blankets, careful to keep yourself covered and let him take you by the wrist. Lay your hand palm up on your lap. His fingers make your blood spark where they touch you and you wish he wouldn’t. Wish you hadn’t been so awful to him while he tried to refuse you. He clips a small device to your fingertip, warns you of the prick of it taking your blood. Checks your pulse, checks your temperature. When the device beeps he removes it and compares the reading with a small manual in the med kit.

“The pollen is out of your system.”

“How… how long has it been?”

“Nearly two days since we were infected.”

You look up in shock. He is staring at you, warm eyes soft and tired. Marred by the dark circles around them. His hair still damp from his shower. You burn red and look away again.

“Two days?”

“You’ve been unconscious for some time.” He packs everything away and moves. You glance at his back when he goes, watch a droplet of water from his hair drip a slow path along the back of his neck and disappear under his soft clean shirt. Images of the days before rise behind your eyes before you can stop them, memories of dreams. Memories of hallucinations and fantasies. Your stomach churns. “Do you need more water?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He nods and comes to sit opposite you on his own bunk, his arm braced across his knee. You try to hold his gaze but humiliation crawls its way up your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut. Keep remembering trying to convince him to fuck you through the effects of the pollen, remember the hazy, sordid details of everything you said to him. You don’t know how you will ever face him again, every be able to meet his eyes. Its all made so much worse by the memory of how badly you wanted him, a desperate need which tore you apart. Feelings which you had supressed and kept dormant before now refused to be ignored and you are full of guilt and affection, tearing you apart. Feel them push up against your heart when you look at him and twist.

“Ezra…”

You hear him sigh, lift your eyes to look at him. He’s smiling, soft and sweet and sad. “It’s quite alright, Starlight. We do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to.”

You fidget you fingers beneath the blanket. “I… I think.” You pause and swallow. “I think we have to talk about it, Ezra. I said – I said – ”

You wish you didn’t have to think about what you said, but you do. And Ezra’s words chase each other around and around in your mind and tangle inside your head. You can’t ignore those. Can’t ignore everything said between you and go back to the way things were. Can’t look at him without remembering the throbbing ache between your legs at the way his voice wrapped around his words and filled you up with fantasies of fucking you in the pod. You need to apologise to him.

Ezra shakes his head. “The pollen was very strong. It put us under extreme duress, and we acted against our natures.”

“Against our natures?” You stomach drops. You know you should not hurt so badly at the implication but your heart begins to crack. Of course he did not want to tell you those things.

“I quite understand.” He looks to his hand, clenched into a fist on his knee. “And you do not need to explain your words to me, I understand they were brought on by the pollen. I shall consider the things which you have said to me to be banished from my mind if,” he releases his clenched fist and inhales slowly, deliberately. “If you will extend to me the same courtesy.”

Your mind goes terrible, horribly blank. Your head begins to throb and you lift your hand to press against it, massage the tightness between your brows. Ezra wants to you forget it all, to forget the whole thing ever happened. Everything said between you was a terrible mistake, and it was, and he is giving you an out. You understand that much – no apology required, no rehash of the painful events. Ashamed when the burn of tears threatens behind your eyes. You should say yes, you think. You should agree to forget it and move on with your lives. But there is the awful feeling, a gnawing in your gut, that if you turned away from him this time it would be the last time. That the space between you would grow and grow until you could not find your way back together. And you owe him an apology.

“Ezra I… I don’t know if I can.” You pick at the blanket in your lap. “I don’t think I can just forget.”

He’s silent. Unnervingly silent.

“I have spent so much of our time together trying to forget.” You whisper. “I don’t want to forget anymore.”

He frowns. “What have you tried to forget before this?”

You shift in your spot. Glance at him and then away. “You know. You must know. All the times… all the time when we could have,” your nerves fill your throat and you have to pause. “Like before this. When we were outside. When you helped me up the hill. When you said – when you said we were seeing the wonders of the universe.” Every moment I could have told you I loved you. You can’t say it. “I can’t forget them anymore.”

Ezra is staring at you. You look to him, find his eyes, because he deserves you to look him in the eye while you say this to him. He deserves more than your cowardice – the cowardice you have given him for the better part of two years. His face is slack at your revelation and then crumples. Collapses in on himself. He looks like he’s in pain.

“These are moments you wish to forget?” His voice is hoarse.

“No! No, Ezra they aren’t!” And you realise what he has thought. “I… they are my favourite memories. But I can never let myself have them because – because – ” You suck in a shaking breath. “I’m not good with words like you. I don’t know.”

“Tell me. Try.”

He is leaning towards you, guarded. Hopeful, maybe. You feel your heart beating so hard you can barely concentrate. “Every time there is something between us, I try to crush it. Because – because I’m scared. But I save them all and I think about them later. I – I think about what you look like when you’re smiling in the sun, or what words you use when you’re happy. Or when you… when you look at me like how you looked at me under the trees outside.”

Ezra pushes himself from his bunk and crosses the space to you. Sits close enough to touch you, but he doesn’t. You are looking into his eyes and can’t look away now. Transfixed. He is so wide and open now. His eyes so warm. You did that, you think. And you swell with the pride of it. So you take a breath and continue.

“I’m scared one day you’ll leave me.” You confess. “Or if I… if I say anything then you will want me to go. And I can’t – I don’t want another partner. I just want you.” Your cheeks go brilliant red. And Ezra smiles, blooms, so bright it’s like looking at the sun. Your hands are shaking again. “I’m scared if I let myself feel everything all at once I might break. And I don’t want to break. And I don’t want to lose you. I want to – I want to have you forever.” You’re talking faster now, more urgent. Your voice drops almost to a whisper. “That’s why I try to forget them, every moment, and its chipping away at my heart Ezra, and I’m worried I won’t have any heart left. I think it…” You close your eyes. Breathe. In and out. Open them again and look at him. Really look at him, and let yourself be seen. All of you. The parts of you which you try to hide. “I think my heart already belongs to you.”

Ezra shifts again. His thigh presses against yours now, burning and hot. He twists his body towards you. Stares at you, his face crinkled in a blinding smile. “Your heart belongs to me?”

Your breath shakes on your exhale and you nod.

He inches closer. “I find myself without words, Starlight. Of course, it would be you that renders me speechless.”

You lean towards him again, pulled by his gravity. His body leans to yours. Not touching anywhere except along your thighs, still pushed together below you. But you grow towards each other, closer and closer, until you can feel the almost press of his body against yours. His face is so close you can see every line, every freckle and mark.

“Surely you know how I feel for you,” he says. His quiet words wash over your face, you could catch them on your tongue you are so close, but you do not, you hover. Just away. “You conceal your heart so well, but I have not concealed mine. Every word I spoke to you while under the influence of that pollen was true. I only wish I could have told them to you in some different way.”

Your heart kicks in your chest. “Ezra, I’m so sorry, I tried to make you – I said awful things when you told me you didn’t want – ”

He shushes you gently. Closes his eyes and shakes his head so minutely. “You did not act on them. I said far more depraved things to you.” He sighs softly. “I truly am sorry it had to happen that way.”

You hesitate. Nod and relax back towards him. He smiles so softly, opens his eyes.

“I dream not only of your body. Everything that I am is yours. The pieces left of me belong to you. Only to you, Starlight. They have for some time now.”

Ezra presses his forehead to yours, his hair tickling your skin. You let your eyes slip closed. Twist slightly and push back against him, rub your nose closer until his cheek brushes the tip of yours and you feel his eyelashes flutter on your skin. His lips close and open and trace the shape of a kiss ghosting against your mouth. Not quite touching. His hot breath mixing with yours. Less than a hair between you. You push you chin just enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth, tug it down and let it go with a sigh. Lick against the imprint of the bite to soothe it.

He groans your name.

“Ezra,” you say into his mouth. Try to catch him in a kiss but he shifts and move away. Retreats from you so that his eyes can find yours.

“Are you sure?”

You carefully move your hands, touch them against his chest and move them up, lightly over his shirt. Clutch the back of his neck. “I don’t need pollen to want you, Ezra. I never have.”

He stares down at you, his eyes fill up everything around you, until he is everything. Just Ezra. Only Ezra. For a moment you are worries he doesn’t believe you but then he surges forward. Teeth and noses clash. His mouth hits yours hard enough to bruise, is hot and open. His tongue inside you, no building, no warning. He pushes against you and you let him, twist your hands into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pull him to you. Tighter. Nearer. Can’t get him close enough. He yanks himself away and you gasp at the sudden loss. Remember to breathe. His arm readjusts its hold around you back and he shifts himself, uses his knee to shove your legs apart and move between them. You lift yourself off the bed to your knees and he pulls you forward again so that you fall into his lap, still wrapped in blankets. Brings his mouth back to yours. Kisses you until you’re dizzy.

He moves his mouth sideways, open and wet and drags it down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Panting. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

He leans all his weight forward and tips you backwards. You fall against the bed, the blankets bunched under your back. Naked. He is staring, transfixed, between your legs. You try to close them, but he catches your knee, pushes his body into the space and forces them open. You burn, conscious of the dried mess which must still be there from the pollen.

“Don’t try and hide yourself from me, Starlight.” He is still staring at your cunt. Uses his torso to push against one of your legs and his arm to move the other. He forces your leg down by the inside of your knee, so slowly, until it touches the bed. Pushes it outwards slightly just to watch your pussy better. “And the other one.”

His hand stays on your knee, his eyes stay between your leg as you do as he says. Watches as the stretch makes your lips part and reveals the almost purple inner flesh of your pussy. He coos, and the sound changes to a groan when you flutter around nothing, a bead of fluid forming at your hole and then dribbling outwards. Your hips jerk at the sound and when your knees lift away from the bed Ezra holds the one he can with such forcefulness that you make a soft cry.

“Can I still touch you?” He asks. His voice surprisingly soft, at odds with the iron grip he has around your leg.

You nod.

You think he means your cunt. You think his hand will dig straight into you with the way he is staring at it. Hungrily. Instead he releases you knee, draws around it with just the tip of his fingers, a featherlight circle over the soft skin and then trails his hand along your thigh. Your hips lift when he approaches the crux of it, traces the crease between your centre and your thigh and then back up over your hipbone. Makes you whimper when he leaves you aching and untouched. He flattens his palm over it, grabs a handful of the flesh of your hip and kneads it gently, before releasing it, moving his flattened palm over the curve of your stomach. Feels it move with every shortened breath. Drifts up slowly and spreads his fingers over the shape of your ribs. Up again and beneath the crease of your breast.

“I imagine you all the time,” he says idly. His eyes look up finally, sees that you have twisted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes closed, trying to hold yourself together. “Look at me, Starlight. There’s a good girl. I imagine you often, when we are outside and you are covered by your suit, and I think of what you look like beneath it. Think about the shape of you when we are supposed to be harvesting our livelihoods.”

You keen. Writhe upwards and try to lift yourself towards him. He shushes you and flattens his palm over your sternum, long fingers push up between your breasts and his thumb and pinky hook beneath them. Not touching them. Forces you back to the mattress, keeps his hand on you and smiles as you gasp. Feels the vibrations of your moaning, exposed beneath him. He waits until you still and look back to him. Dark eyes watching you.

“Keep your legs open.” You realise you have pushed them up off the bed again. It makes you pink and splotchy over your chest and neck and face but you slowly, shakily part them again. Let them drop on either side of him. “You are more than I deserve, Starlight. More beautiful than I could have ever painted you in my mind’s eye.”

His hand moves again, up over your chest and along the lines of your collarbones. Out over your left shoulder and then down the length of your arm. Lets his fingers rest still at the velvety soft skin at the inside of your elbow and then follows the path of your veins through the skin to your wrist. Encloses his hand around yours and brushes his thumb over the pulse point at your wrist. Presses in and feels your blood sing in response. And then he lifts your arm up over your head and rests it above you. Presses it once into the mattress and fixes you with a look. Do not move it, he doesn’t have to say. He releases it again and this time his fingers trail the other side of your arm down and gently through your armpit and over your ribs to your other arm. You are already lifting it and he catches it to and finishes the motion for you. Holds your wrists together in one large hand. Surprises you by pushing up onto his knees and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. Sweet. Chaste.

He pulls away. When your eyes flutter back open, he is close and smiling. “Starlight does not do justice to how bright you are,” he whispers gently. Presses a kiss to your temple. “There is no star in any galaxy which could pit itself against you and come out the victor. You would put them all to shame.”

Your eyes are wet. You have to swallow the lump in your throat. “Ezra.”

His mouth brushes your temple again. Your brow. The bridge of your nose and your cheekbone. Hovers hot and open over your mouth but when you move towards him he is gone, his mouth open along your jaw. He tongues the length of your neck, dipping into the pit at the centre of your clavicle. You lift off the bed again and his mouth moves down, finally to your breasts in wet kisses until he reaches your nipple. Looks up to catch your eyes when he gathers saliva in his mouth and licks it. Makes your toes curl into the sheets. He coats you until the bud is shining with wetness and then pulls away and blows on it, a gust of cold air, freezing against your wet flesh. You groan, both watch the way it grows hard and pebbled, the skin around it pulling together. Then his hot mouth is around it, burning after the coolness and you whine and arch into his mouth. Use the leverage of your knees on the bed to push yourself into him.

He releases you with an obscene noise, deliberately wet. Lays his cheek against your heaving breast so that your nipple is being brushed by the tip of his nose and smiles at you. Saccharine, like he hadn’t just been suckling at you. Like he wasn’t forcing you to stare at the painfully hard nipple between you. And then he moves and gives the same treatment to the other side. Warm and cold and hot. Until you are desperately trying to lift your hips against his stomach and roll your centre against him for any relief. Can feel the wetness dripping from you, running down your slit and back. Probably staining the already ruined sheets.

“Please Ezra,” you are panting. “Please.”

He chuckles and pulls away from your tits. Admires the two wet and hard peaks of them. Leans down to peck your right nipple so lightly you might not have felt it if he hadn’t just driven you to the point of overstimulation.  

“I am sensitive to your plight, my sweet Starlight. But I hope I cannot be expected to rush this. I have many months of painful imaginations to fuel this encounter and I want to enjoy you.”

He lowers his mouth to the centre of your breasts. The heaving, solid spot there and leaves another wet kiss there. And then licks a long, hot stripe through your middle and readjusts his one arm beneath your middle, and you lift to make room for it, his forearm completely covered to the elbow beneath the mass of your body. Has to wrap it up under your right thigh and pulls the leg up higher to your side, stretching you so far open your thighs shake in protest. Then resumes his path of kisses over your stomach and down. You are clenching viciously around nothing, hips jerking even though you try to still them. His chin tickles the hair at the top of your slit. His eyes look up at you, smile at you even though his mouth is open beneath your naval, his tongue making lazy circles against the skin.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or I will lose my balance.”

You bite down on your lip. Can’t speak, because you can feel another desperate noise building at the back of your throat. You nod.

He finally returns his gaze to your neglected cunt. Watches your hole flutter and spasm at the attention, watches as it leaks more wetness out and as it sinks down your slit and your crack. Makes a patch of wet beneath you. He leans closer and breathes you in. Smells you. It makes your head spin, makes your face so red you have to close your because you can’t think. You feel his nose almost against you and then his breath, hot and his tongue wet, so close to your hole you jerk before you can stop. But he doesn’t enter you, instead just barely lets the tip of his tongue run the length of your inner lips, all the way to where they encase your clit, stopping agonisingly just before it. First one side and then the other. Almost the same feeling as his fingertips had been over the rest of your body. But so much more.

You choke his name and he wraps his lips around your clit. You think you might black out, the attention so much more intense after the neglect. You feel a sob work its way from the back of your throat, force your hips to stay flat on the bed, try not to clench your right thigh around his arm in case he falls. He alternates sucking you, drawing patterns with his tongue and sometimes, when you release more wetness, he will lick a long broad stroke up your whole length and moan with his mouth stretched around as much of you as he can. Gather you on his tongue and dribble it back over your clit and pull away just to watch it slide back down your pussy. And then his mouth will be on you again, relentless. You feel his teeth more than once, grazing, experimental nips. Never hard enough to sting but enough to make you clench at the promise of it. Makes you leak more.

He pulls away.

“I have dreamed of the taste of you many times, Starlight. It is one of my favourites, one which I will often indulge myself. Look at me.” You have to force your eyes open, heaving from the effort of breathing. Tilt your head down and the sight of him makes you clench again and cry out. His hair is a mess, his blonde streak stuck straight up, and his face coated from his nose to his chin in your juices. The pink of his lips gleaming with fluid. “I will lay in my bunk long after you are sleeping and I will conjure ways in my mind to imagine how you will taste. I will try not to look at you, but I always do. And my hand is never enough when I think of how perfect I know you are, and so close, always so close to me, that I can hear the gentle undulation of your breath. I like the imagine you like this, beneath me, coming for hours so I can taste you and imprint the memory of it forever in my mind.”

He ducks his head back and licks up your length again, gathers you up and works his cheeks to mix you with his own saliva in his mouth, and then leans over your clit. Dribbles it over your clit, lets it land on the bundle of nerves and the skin and hair around it. And then blows on it like he had on your nipples. You let out a shriek and your head falls back at the cold air. Makes you draw up deep in your belly. Pulling tighter and tighter. So close. So close.

“My other favourite is that you will sit on my face, allow me to let myself be of use to you, let you fuck yourself on my tongue and rub yourself against me until you come.”

“Ezra,” you can barely speak. “Ezra, I’m going – I’m – ”

Your thighs are shaking so badly it hurts. Your arms straining above your head.

“Come.”

He latches his mouth over you as you do. Finally puts his tongue inside you and his nose brushes against your clit. Laps at you as you finally break and release over his face. You see white burst behind your eyes. Your whole body shakes at the force of it. You sob, hot tears streaking down your face. But Ezra doesn’t stop his ministrations, fucks his tongue in and out of you the whole time and when you think you might finish he moves his mouth back to you clit and moans against it, the vibrations of the sound pulse through your cunt and you scream.

“Ezra, no, I can’t – I can’t – I won’t – ”

You break again, not sure if it’s a second orgasm or the first. So, so wet. You can feel your pussy weeping. It lasts somehow, impossibly, longer than the first. You are boneless when it ends. Legs jerking, shoulders twitching off the bunk. Ezra laps at you until it almost hurts and when you flinch, he pulls back. Kisses your clit gently and slowly extracts himself from beneath you. Eases your leg around his body and pushes your knees together so you are on your side with your back to him. Kisses your thigh, and then your hip. Your shoulder. Lowers himself onto the bunk behind you and wraps his one arm around you and tucks his knees up behind yours. Flush and warm against you. Cradles you through the aftershocks of the orgasm with soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

You turn slowly. Feel like you’re moving through water. You twist to face him and nuzzle you face into his neck. Let his arm pull you closer and his leg wrap over yours. “I love you,” you say into his skin. “Ezra. I love you. So much.”

He kisses the crown of your head, his hand gathers your hair and brushes his thumb over your scalp. “I would pour all that I am into you if you would give me the chance. I have spent my life in the pursuit of collecting treasures and now I have found one which I wish to keep always for myself. I would hoard you away from the world. I would give you the world if you asked for it.” Another soft kiss. He hums against your head. “I love you, my Starlight. My beautiful girl.”

And you are content to lay there, listening to the rain outside and the sound of his breathing, laboured at first but evening out into a gentle rhythm. You let your eyes close, press yourself between his neck and the mattress and sigh against his skin. Feel him tighten his arm around you and press his mouth into your hair. He’s wearing clean underclothes. Smells of soap. You know you should move and clean yourself from days of sweat and cum but you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

You jolt when you feel him unwind his legs from yours, had almost fallen asleep against him. There’s an awkward moment of shuffling before he can get untangled enough to push himself to sitting. You moan, reach for him and he chuckles. Leans over you again so that he can press another lingering kiss to your shoulder. And then he pushes himself from the bed and pads away. Comes back with a small towel, damp with hot water and settles himself by your feet. Tells you to sleep with a gentle voice and begins to gently scrub your skin. Your feet, your ankles, up and around your calves. All the way up your legs to your centre, wiping away the sweat and then very gently the cum which is drying between your legs and over your thighs. Your hips jerk away from the action, still sore and oversensitive, but you settle and allow him to work. He rinses the towel and returns. Sits you up and rubs your torso and your arms. You are aching from coming and twitch at the rub of the sheets against your centre. But your nipples still pebble at his touch and he chuckles.

“Come now, Starlight. To the other bunk. The sheets are clean.”

He helps you to stand and catches you when your legs buckle. Seats you in his bunk, against the clean sheets and leaves to discard the towel. You can see the tent of his dick in his pants when he returns, another patch of precum on the clean fabric. Your mouth fills at the sight.

“Ezra,” you breathe. “Ezra. I want to – ”

You fidget. Can’t say it. Years of keeping your feelings bottled deeply within you make the habit a hard one to break. Suddenly shy even after he had just made you scream. Made you orgasm twice. He stands before you, cock at your eye level and you can’t look away. Tiredness fading, soreness fading into something else. You lick at your lips and he groans.

“Can I please, Ezra?” You look up at him. Shuffle yourself closer to the edge of the bunk, and closer to him. Back down at his cock and then to his eyes. Dark and hungry and watching your mouth. “You’re not the only one with fantasies.”

He lets out a pained noise and nods. Chest heaving. “Yes. Yes.”

You scoot forward and slowly, carefully brace your hands on his thighs. Watch his dick kick slightly at the contact. Squeeze the thick muscle in his legs and bring yourself closer to him. Glance up at his eyes once more and he is watching you. Transfixed. You graze the head of him through his pants with your nose and then your mouth. Soak up the choked groan he makes, let it fill you up. Press open mouthed kisses to the already wet fabric, make them loud so that he will hear them. Let your mouth fall open further and further until you can almost close it around him. Hum in quiet satisfaction. He’s big. Just the tip of him makes you shiver.

You pull away and reach for the waistband of his pants, slung low on his hips already, and pull it slowly down. Take your time watching as his smooth skin is revealed, the patch of thick, dark hair at the base of him, and then the length of his cock. Just enough that he comes over the top of his waistband. Stare at it, slack jawed and nervous. Eager. Your mouth watering. He is big, bigger than you had realised. You hear the slap of skin against the pod and look up. Ezra has braced his elbow and forearm against the low roof and is leaning towards you, seeking your mouth.

You grant it to him. Lick the slit at the tip of his dick and then around it. Make sure you look into his eyes when you open your mouth and suck him in. Pause while you work your jaw to accommodate for his thickness and test the heavy weight of him against your tongue, taste him. Feel against him and massage your tongue against the shape of the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He groans, stutters his hips forward into your mouth. You slacken your jaw as best you can, have to open your mouth so wide to fit him you can feel it stretch at the corner of your lips. You pull back, try to relax, take him back in again. Watch the way his head tilts back and the soft shape of his stomach heaves under his shirt. You lift your hand to work at his base, easing it up over the path of your mouth to spread the mixture of saliva and pre-cum down to his base. Bob your mouth over as much of him as you can, relish the feeling of his stuttering hips trying not to choke you. Trying to allow you to set the pace.

You move your hand from his thigh, up around to his ass, dig your fingers into the firm muscle hard. You push him forward from behind, force his hips forward and his cock deeper into your mouth, almost into your throat. More than is comfortable, but it makes you hot and aching, the feeling of the thick head of him pushing into you so hard you can barely breathe. You push again when you feel him try to fight another jerk of his hips, use your hand to show him you want him to fuck into you, still your head when he gives in to the feeling of it and groans. Lets his head all back and sinks himself into your mouth. His whole cock pulses hard and you moan, as loud as you can, to make him feel it. His hips hold in your mouth, almost too long, almost stops your breathing for too long. And then he pulls out and thrusts in again and again and again.

He’s cursing softly, using your mouth, his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. Hitting the back of your throat. It brings tears to your eyes. He pulls out, rests just the head of his dick inside your lips and the sight of him, of his dick hanging just over the waistband of his pants and his thermal shirt covering him while you sit before him naked makes you thrill. You swallow him down, so far back it stings your eyes and makes you choke on him, sputter.

His knees half buckle and he yanks himself away. His dick falls from your mouth with a wet noise and a trail of saliva connecting you. He stares at it, swearing and panting until the string of fluid breaks. You whine, reach forward, try to pull him back again but he twists away.

He is breathless. Heaving. “I need… but a moment to collect myself.”

“I don’t want you to collect yourself.” You push yourself up onto both knees and sit on your ankles. Grip the clean sheets on either side of you. “I want you to fuck my throat. Please Ezra, please.”

His dick jumps again. Leaks a steady track of precum down the underside of its length and you moan again, twitch in your spot and mourn the loss of tasting it. Of the feel of it running down your throat. He closes his eyes and breathes, his fingers gripping against the ceiling so hard his hand turns white at the knuckles.

“I want to taste your cum, Ezra.” You blink up at him. Tears of frustration in your eyes.

You reach for him again and this time he catches both your hands in his. Yanks you from the bed with a yelp and pulls you to your feet. Turns you both and shoves you back, lands you on your own sullied sheets. Your bare ass bounces against the covers and you scramble backwards. Ezra is kicking out of his sweats and tugging off his shirt. Joins you on the bed. Bronzed skin exposed and dick hard and pink and pointed upwards. Shining with your saliva. You pussy begins to leak again.

“I want to cum down your throat, my beautiful Starlight,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “I want to fuck your throat until you cry and I want you to drink down everything I have to give you.” He grabs your ankle and yanks it towards him. You slide across the covers. “But first I want to cum inside your pretty little pussy. Is that okay?”

You nod. Nod so fast you dizzy yourself with it. He sits back onto his feet and yanks your ankle again, shoves your legs apart with his hand. Then his hand is on your clit. He is not soft or gentle this time. He pinches the bundle of nerves hard enough to make your cry out in shock. His hand leaves you, spans the width of your chest and forces your back to the bed. Then he is at your clit again, drawing harsh circles around it which make you scream. He doesn’t stop, not even when you can barely breathe, except to scoop your own juices from where they leak and smear them across your lips and clit. His finger is inside you, fucking you, and then back out. His hand disappears and you blubber, crying and humping your hips towards nothing at the loss.

The light slap against your clit makes you yelp. Makes you jerk your whole body in surprise, and then utter a low moan, feel the dribble of wetness down your slit and over his fingers.

“You have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen, Starlight.” Ezra grits. Sweat beading at his forehead and dripping around the curve of his brow. “I could watch your spasming little cunt clench around nothing all day. I could rub you like this and see how much your pretty pussy wants my dick in it. I could not give it to you, just make you lie here for hours and watch you and every time you almost come I could stop.” You are uttering fast, breathy little moans. Feel your pussy sputter and more wetness ooze from it. Your thighs jumping. He slaps your clit again, the sting much harder this time. You think if he doesn’t stop you will come again without having him inside you and the thought makes you want to scream. “You like this, don’t you? You like hearing me say what I wish to do to you. You like me spanking your cunt.”

“Please, Ezra.” You’re blubbering. Shaking. “Please, please, please!”

His hand lifts away from you again and you cry out. It comes back, but not between your legs. His hand is on your hip, holding you down. You start to push against him, start to whine.

“How long?” He asks. His voice almost conversational.

You’re panting too hard to answer him. Can’t figure out what he means. “H-how… how long w-what?”

His fingertips dig into your skin. “How long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

You groan. Leak. Can’t think, can’t form any words. Everything is bright and buzzing around you, your clit throbbing. And he wants – he wants – you toss your head to the side, screw your face up, try to think.

“S-since Arla-7,” you gasp. “Arla-7.”

He goes still. His hand turns to stone, pressing into you so hard. You sob, loud and needy. But he doesn’t move at all, just sits there. You turn your head back and open your eyes, have trouble seeing him through the tears caught in your lashes. He is not how you expect him to look. He is no longer harsh and snarling and telling you what to do. His face is soft. His hand moves from your hip to brush a tear from your cheek and then cradle your face. Tender and sweet.

“So long?” He whispers. “Arla-7 was – ”

“Nearly two years ago.”

He groans and then is crowding you into the mattress. Looms over you, his weight skewed, so he has to slide his arm beneath your head to keep himself balance. You feel the weight of his dick rest against your lower stomach. Let out a whimper. He rubs himself slowly along you, catches himself between your wet lips and drags his dick between you. You lift your hips to help, seek out the tip of him. Realise his arm is shaking in exertion. You drop back to the bunk.

“Would it – would it be easier if we swapped?”

He blinks down at you. Then nods and rolls onto his side and the back, over his good shoulder. Uses his arm behind your neck to pull you up off the bunk and with him. You swing up and gingerly sit yourself next to him. Loop your leg over his hips and balance your hands on his shoulders. For a moment there is a settling feeling, something softer and more peaceful works its way between you. Ezra lifts his arm and pushes your hair from your face and he smiles at you. One of his rare, small smiles. Like you are the centre of the galaxy. Makes you feel like maybe you actually are starlight. You smile back, press your lips to his wrist.

He drops his hand, grabs himself and you feel the blunt head of his cock push up against you. You moan, test your weight back and forward slightly and start to sink slowly. Feel the stretch of him inside you, so, so big. You sink lower and have to stop, feel your thighs shaking, your eyes fill with tears. Then lower again and you feel him at the back of your throat. You still, both hands on his shoulders, quaking at the effort of just having him inside you. The burn of the stretch doesn’t stop, and holding yourself up hurts too, so you lower again, couldn’t go any faster even if you tried, the friction of his dick against your walls so intense from the tightness of the fit. He’s murmuring to you, telling you to breathe, asking if you are okay. You keep sinking, feel a sob break your lips as you finally, finally cover him completely. Sit your thighs over his hips.

He’s holding your hip, his thumb drawing light circles against you. Still talking, still saying something. Your brain has blacked out, completely shut off.

Slowly you start to swivel your hips, gently rocking forward and back again. Feeling the burn turn slowly to something easier, something better. His words of concern turn into words of encouragement. You lift yourself off him just slightly and drop again. Feel his moan reverberate through his whole body. Feel his dick twitch inside you. You lift again, further this time and drop slowly, start to feel your toes curl again, start to ride him properly. He shifts beneath you, starts to match your strokes. Follows your pace with every thrust of his hips. Gentle at first and then faster. The wet sound of slapping skin fills the pod, drowns out the sounds of the rain outside. When you can finally open your eyes Ezra is staring between you at where his dick disappears inside you, brow furrowed, face red and damp with sweat. You groan and he grunts beneath you, tightens his grip on your hip and steadies you. Holds you still. He braces his feet against the bed and starts to thrust into you. Each hit jolts your body, you feel the slap of him under your thighs, against your ass. Bouncing your whole body at every impact, moans turn to sharp cries as he fills you, pumping into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant with each thrust.

He’s out of breath. “Touch yourself.”

You do. You lean to one side so you can reach a hand between your bodies and rub at your clit. It makes you cry loudly and buck into your hand, back against his cock. He’s staring at your bouncing tits, down at his dick sinking into you. You rub vicious little circles around your clit so hard your arm is shaking.

“Where – ”

“I-in-inside me.” Your words break with every slap of his balls against your ass, sending you scooting forward on your knees. “Inside me. Please Ezra, please, safe – ”

He yanks your hips down over him, not humping anymore, almost vibrating. You watch him come undone beneath you. His jaw locks, neck bulges and tips back. Covered in sweat, slick with it. His chest heaving. You feel the hot pumping of his release inside you and tweak your clit, panting until you join him. Stars burst behind your eyes and you slump forward. Clenching so tightly around his dick you wonder how he fits. It only makes Ezra groan beneath you, surprisingly quiet when he comes. You slump into him.

You lay panting together, chests heaving and slipping, pressed against each other. His dick still inside you, your trembling thighs wrapped around his hips. You can’t think anything, except for his twitching length inside you, the last of his release mixing with yours and starting to swell at the place where you meet but trapped, because his cock fills you so completely that there is no room for anything else. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, drop completely into him. Feel his arm slowly lift and wrap over your shoulders. Hug you into him while he tries to catch his breath. When you gain enough sense to think anything it is that you must be in heaven with him. He is hot and alive beneath you. And in love with you. You sniffle and kiss his collarbone, hug your arms around him as best you can.

You must lie there for some time because you feel the sweat dry and cooling against your skin and Ezra tugs the meagre blanket over you both. You are boneless against him, happy at the feel of his warmth trapped beneath you and inside you. He tries to shift, and you feel him start to slide out of you. You tighten your thighs around his hips and squeeze your cunt around him with as much force as you can muster. He groans and stills. Hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“Stay,” you whisper. Face burning hot with embarrassment at this request. At admitting how good he feels, soft inside you. “Just for a little while.”

He hums and stills. Drops his hand to your hips and pushes you down further into his crotch. Lifts his hips a little to sheath himself inside you to the hilt. You groan into his neck.

“Who am I to deny you anything,” he says into your temple.

“Was – ”

He waits, and when you don’t continue. “Was what?”

“Was it…” You squirm, and still when you both groan at the feeling of your releases trickle out of you and trail down his dick and over his balls. You still before anymore can escape, red at how much you resent any of it leaving you. You suck in a deep breath. “Was it as good as you imagined it?”

“Better, Starlight. Better.” He brushes hair back over your shoulder, lets his hand linger on the skin and trace the length of your spine. You feel his smile when your skin lifts into goosebumps beneath his fingertips. “No phantom conjuring in my mind will ever compete with you.”

Your eyes well with tears and you are as usual left without words. So unlike Ezra. So you show him in your own way. You turn your head to press a kiss to the thick column of his throat. A chaste one first, and then open your mouth and breathe over the spot. Press another wet kiss to the same spot. You feel his dick, still inside you, jump.

“You are truly fortuitous we have made our fortunes worth on those aquatic gems.” His fingers trail further down your back. Lower. Ghost the bump at the base of your spine and lower still. Almost, almost touching. Glimpsing against the top of the crack of your ass and then retreating. Tracing over the swell of it and back over your hip. His breath his hot against your hair. “I do not think I could be convinced by anything to leave you. I have two years of craving to account for, my Starlight.”

. 

Permanent tags: @btillys​ @vercopaanir​

[psilocybinlemon]

Song of the Dragonborn - Fairy tail x Skyrim AU

Lucy's life changes forever when the dragons come back to life after centuries of endless slumber. As her hometown burns down in flames, a young fire mage named Natsu saves her from certain death. Brought together by a chance of fate, they set on an epic adventure to find their roles in the ancient prophecies about the end of the world.

Follow Natsu, Lucy, and other Fairy Tail characters as they venture the mysterious lands of Skyrim - with magic, friendship, romance, battles, plot twists, and dragons!

Rated mature for graphic violence, deaths, blood, and other medieval stuff. Chapters in Tumblr: 1, 2, 3 All chapters so far (78) posted are found in AO3 or FF.net

CHAPTER 1: SHADOWS UNBOUND

Whenever thunder rumbled in the distance, Lucy imagined it was the mighty roar of the long lost dragons, echoing across the aeons.

Stormclouds as dark as the blackbird’s wings loomed in the horizon as a raven circled around the halo of the sun. It would rain soon, and it was a welcomed change. The crops had been suffering from the long drought, and the wells were running dry. Tonight lightning would split the skies and the gods would play their drums of war – that’s what parents told their children when the thunder came. But Lucy had always thought it was dragons fighting behind the veil of clouds, even though there hadn’t been dragons in Skyrim for centuries.

Lucy stood on the porch of her home, leaning to a wooden parapet and observing how the city woke up to a new day. Children played, dogs barked, people hurried to their duties. Nobody seemed to mind the upcoming storm as if no-one even heard the remote rumbles. Loke, a lumberjack’s lastborn son ran past the house and smiled at her. Lucy replied with a smile as she had been told to. A proper shopkeeper should smile to everyone, and so the customers would come. Mother would open the shop at any moment, but Lucy hoped to bask in the morning sun for a moment longer. She’d store the sunlight into herself to survive another day indoors. She wasn’t made for her job, but in Skyrim, people lived the lives they were born into. A child born into a farmer’s family would be a farmer. A child born into a merchant’s family would be a merchant – like Lucy. As the only child of their family, she didn’t have any other options. Selling trinkets, odds and ends would be the only life she’d ever know, and dreaming was her only escape. Lucy turned her gaze to the sky and let the cool autumn wind play with her fair hair. She closed her eyes, allowing her mind to carry her away, into the faraway lands she’d never visit. The books of the ancient legends and heroes brought her the solace of escapism, and so she set herself into those stories. She imagined herself as a brave sorcerer as her great-grandmother had been. Magic had once passed down her maternal family line, but it weakened with every generation which lived in its absence.

Her parents had blamed Loke for planting such wild dreams into their daughter’s head, but it wasn’t true. In addition to the stories she read, it was the mages who sometimes visited their store and asked if they sold potions or spells. Potions they had, but spellbooks were forbidden. As Nords often did, her parents despised magic and its users. Especially her father. He had made sure Lucy would never lay her hands on a book of magic, but he couldn’t stop her from talking to those mages.

When father wasn’t hearing, Lucy had exchanged wonderful conversations with the mages, and heard stories of the College of Winterhold. Its reputation had been stained over the years, but Lucy adored the things magic could do. In her wildest, most secret dreams she ran away from this damned town, found the sealed powers of magic within herself and joined the College. But they remained as dreams. Such a thing would never happen, never, or father would catch her and chop off her head and feed it to the goats.

Still, her dreams were all she had. Detaching herself from counting the coins kept her sane. While ancient heroes had made themselves into the pages of history, she would become nothing more than a page in the sales registry.

A commotion from the edge of the town drew her back to the real world. The gates opened and guards let the wagons in. The Imperial Legion arrived at Helgen with another bunch of prisoners. It had happened weekly, lately. Thunder rattled in the distance again as the storm crept near. Would they get the execution over with before it would start to rain?

Executions had become public entertainment as the Empire punished wrongdoers and deceivers with death. Lucy didn’t like to watch those shows. But today, as the wagons passed by her house and her eyes caught Ulfric Stormcloak sitting on the cart, her interest peaked. What was the Jarl of Windhelm, who claimed himself as the new High King of Skyrim, doing there?

Three wagons full of prisoners arrived, all of them sentenced to die. Each one of them carried four men, so twelve lives would end this day.

One of the prisoners in the last cart gazed at Lucy. He was a young man with hair the colour of a nightshade, dressed in black mage’s robes. He turned away the moment Lucy noticed him looking. Another man in robes sat beside him. Since when had the Empire targeted mages?

”Lucy, come inside”, mother hollered from the door.

”They’re executing Ulfric Stormcloack”, Lucy answered, refusing to move. From the silence Lucy knew mother would stay, too.

The wagons stopped at the plaza and men formed in lines, as the priestess of Arkay gave them their last rites. Then an Imperial commander ordered one of the mages to the block first. They started with the runts, leaving Ulfric the Usurper for the last.

”Those are mages from the College of Winterhold”, mother said, pointing at them. ”You still want to join that college?”

Lucy shook her head, lying. She didn’t know what those men had done, but judging from the way the Empire punished people for stepping on a chicken’s stool, they hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong.

Thunder rumbled again, louder than before, catching Lucy’s attention for a moment. It didn’t sound like a regular storm anymore, as if it was something else. The soldiers raised their eyes to the skies but deemed it as nothing abnormal and carried on.

Then the executioner raised his axe and swung. A sickening thump filled the silence as a man’s head dropped to the ground.

Lucy’s stomach sank as sickness spread inside of her. She hated these damn executions. The guards dragged the headless body away and kicked the rolling, lonely head to the side before pushing another victim to the block. The mage who had looked at her, the one with pink hair, writhed and screamed with tears running down his face as the guards dragged him forward.

”A man should face his death bravely, not crying like a milk-drinker”, father said behind her, having appeared while the first mage had died. ”Those mages are nothing but pests to this country. Good to get rid of them.”

Lucy wanted to punch his father for saying that. She watched silently as the guard forced the mage to the block and pressed him down with his foot. He was barely older than Lucy, a way too young to die. Lucy knew he didn’t cry for his death, but the death of his fallen comrade, whose head was still rolling down the plaza. Lucy held hands over her mouth as the headsman raised his axe again.

But then a deafening roar filled the skies. The axe dropped, missing the mage’s head by mere inches.

Completely startled, Lucy lifted up her gaze and her legs went weak. A giant, black creature spread its wings over the sun, shadowing the entire plaza. It landed on a watchtower and screeched, and the bright, cloudless skies turned into a battlefield of stormclouds.

”What in Oblivion is that!?” father cried and grabbed mother while Lucy crawled to the cover of the stone wall.

Shivering in pure fear, she knew exactly what that thing was. Straight from the childrens storybooks, the sign of the end times. Black horns and fangs as long as a man.

A dragon.

The creature roared again, now breathing fire. Stone and wood came crumbling down under the dragon’s will. One of the dropping rocks hit Lucy’s head, blurring her vision until everything was dark. ______________________________

”Hey, girl, wake up. Wake up now. We have to get out of here.”

Someone pulled her away from burning heat as her head and heart pounded rapidly. She cracked her eyes open and saw the pink-haired mage grabbing her wrists and dragging her out of the collapsed wall.

Behind him was an utter desolation: flames and black smoke filled the air, the buildings were ruined, dead bodies littered the streets. People ran around aimlessly looking for shelter, only to be crushed by flying stones.

The mage helped Lucy on her feet, supporting her to stand. The hem of her yellow dress was torn and cuts adorned her bare shins, but she couldn’t feel any pain. Panic spreading in her chest, she looked around to find her family. ”My parents… are they safe?” Lucy stuttered, tears pouring from her eyes.

”You mean those?” the man said and pointed at two unrecognisable, scorched corpses lying on the remains of the porch. Lucy screamed and strength escaped from her legs. The mage forced her back up. ”Leave them behind or you’ll die, too!”

The black dragon flew low right above them, and the air it pushed forward with its wings threw them both from their feet again. The mage protected her from the broken, sharp boards, agilely rose up and took Lucy’s hand. Shock petrified her as hot air got stuck in her windpipe.

Her entire life had turned to ashes in a matter of minutes.

”C’mon, let’s go”, he urged and pulled her hand in a hurry. Lucy stole one last glance on the remains of her parents, swallowed hard and turned away. The escape she’d dreamed of was suddenly forced upon her as no choice than to escape. Trembling, Lucy nodded to the man and then they ran, trying to find a way out of the burning town as the dragon soared through the black smoke.

Soldiers readied their bows and launched the arrows towards the flying beast, but they just bounced back and rained down. Knowing the city better than her pockets, Lucy looked for the East Gate, knowing it was right behind the watchtower.

The stone walls of the town had crumbled down with the gate, giving them an opening if they’d survive through the shelterless plaza. Burning blood rushed through her veins, giving her strength to act, ignore the pain and fight for survival.

”There!” she shouted, raising her voice over the racket and uproar.

She began to ran, but the mage froze beside her. He watched how a little boy tried to reach the collapsed wall, and the dragon noticed his efforts to escape. Lucy gasped in terror as the child disappeared into the inferno of the dragon’s breath.

One by one, the citizens of Helgen fell to the flames of something which wasn’t supposed to exist. Dizziness flooding over her, Lucy caught the mage’s hand again so she wouldn’t faint. ’This just can’t be happening!’ she repeated in her head. ’This has to be a nightmare!’

”Wait”, the man said and locked eyes with the dragon. It had landed on the watchtower again. ”Run across this plaza when I say so.”

Lucy nodded to him, and the mage formed a fireball on his hand.

”Now!” he shouted and threw the ball towards the dragon. It exploded at the top of the tower, leaving a blinding cloud of dust and smoke in its wake. Taking advantage of the confusion, they ran to the broken wall and climbed through the hole. Even though they made it outside the town’s walls, but they weren’t safe. Not yet.

Following the mage, Lucy ran into the forest, ran until the screams of the town silenced. She jumped over the fallen trees, ignored the scratches the branches left on her face, just ran, ran and ran for her life.

Lucy’s mind went blank and white, exhaustion burning in her lungs and legs, but she kept going until they reached the depths of the forest, silence falling around them. The man stopped near large rocks and hid behind them. Lucy collapsed next to him and leaned to the boulder, trying to curl into as small as she could. Gasping for breath, she squeezed her eyes closed, seeing nothing but her parents scorched to death.

Surrounded by pines and spruces, she didn’t feel safe. She probably never would, ever again. Not after today, when her whole world burned down.

Dragons weren’t supposed to exist, but now they did.

A powerful sob shook her once. She tried to suffocate it, but failed. As tears blurred her vision, she glanced at the mage. The man shivered in a catatonic state, his hollow eyes staring at a tree stump in front of him. Lucy could see his pain, and it comforted her in a twisted way. At least she wasn’t all alone in this chaos. She would have died without his help. Even though it felt so unfair to be alive, she was glad she was still breathing.

”H… Hey –” she started, but the mage silenced her with a shush. He put his finger on his lips, giving her a strict look. Lucy lowered her voice and whispered, ”Th… Thank y… you. What’s… your name?”

The man shook his head, eyes gleaming in gloom. Though Lucy wanted to know the name of the person who had saved her, she understood if he couldn’t speak right now. Or if he wouldn’t want to say it at all.

Lucy studied his black robes with her gaze and recognised the symbol of the College of Winterhold through the dirt and blood. The mage noticed her long stare, and so she looked away.

”I... I’m Natsu”, he said then, so quiet Lucy couldn’t almost hear. She turned towards him again and tried her hardest to smile, smile as she had been told to, but she couldn’t. She just looked at him and let the tears pour down.

Freedom had once been all she had longed for, and now she had nothing left but freedom. And as her previous life was gone, she was free to choose a new one.

Despite feeling like she could never move on, like the cold forest floor would become her new home, she had to force herself forward. Lucy couldn’t let this chance pass by her. She gathered up her courage, knowing her parents wouldn’t stop her now. She glanced at the sigil of the College once more, and then raised her gaze to meet the mage’s.

”Could… Could I come with you… to… to the College?” Lucy whispered, ready to draw it back if the mage would refuse. But instead of refusing, he judged her in silence, and Lucy just hoped he would see the remnants of magic in her if there was any. ”I… I have no place to go to...”

Lucy was giving up when he finally said, ”I... I had you f-figured for a… a mage.” Something which faintly resembled a smile flashed on his face before it was gone, but it was enough to spark hope in the ruins of Lucy’s heart.

Maybe something new would rise from the ashes of her old life, for the end was always also a beginning. _______

Hope you liked the first chapter! Keep reading in AO3 or FF.net! I'll eventually post more chapters here in tumblr too.

[retvenkos]

blanching | helnik

Six of Crows - A Helnik Story, angst, slight fluff requested by @musicallisto​​

tw: a suggestive comment, grief, spoilers for crooked kingdom

word count: 1.5k

prompt: “i’m here for you. i have your back.”

A/N: y’know, this turned out pretty decent, but ohmygod... you guys should have seen the scene that was painted in my head... it would have made you sob.

Summary: Fear and uncertainty didn’t belong here. Not in Novyi Zem. Not with Matthias.

Novyi Zem was beautiful. In the morning, the sun rose steadily, filtering through slatted blinds and spilling across the floor, warming the shadows until they disappeared from view. In the mid-afternoon, its bustling cities were full of life - laughter seemingly reverberating from the very ground, the smell of food wafting through the clear air, the bright, sparkling ocean bringing in a soft breeze that ruffled skirts and jackets. In the evening, its farmlands hummed with the music of crickets, lush greens and dying yellows stretching onto infinity.  Colm Fahey lived in Cofton, with rows and rows of jurda plants, all of them vibrantly orange, flowering under the warm summer sun. 

Once, maybe a lifetime ago, Colm Fahey told Nina and the rest of the crows that his home was open to them, should they need it. Jesper had laughed as though the offer were a joke without a punchline, and Kaz had assured Mr. Fahey that they would never be passing by.

Nina was the one to laugh, now.

Novyi Zem was one stop on a trip to somewhere much warmer, and when they were running low on coin, Wylan pointed out that Jesper's family home wasn't far from them. Kaz said they would stop for only a day or two. How long had they been there, now? Two weeks? Maybe longer?

Nina was pleased with the arrangement. As long as there was enough flour for waffles and enough sun for warmth, she could gladly stay in Novyi Zem forever.

The sounds of the farm were a charming cacophony that rooted Nina to this reality - to this beautiful, warm world. Nina lay in the fields, her hair haloing outward, her palms digging into the fresh grass. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face, its golden and amber hues playing against the dark of her eyelids. The sun was a brilliant ball of light, kissing Nina's skin and warming her from the outside in - penetrating the bone. Never had she known warmth such as this.

In the Heartrender rooms of the Little Palace, Nina was taught the secrets of the body and the science of bending it to your will. She learned everything - from releasing chemicals in the brain for good spirits to inducing heart attacks that could prove fatal, given a particular turn of the wrist. Nina mastered how to increase blood flow and quicken the heartbeat, and ever since, she kept herself warm.

Nina had only ever been cold twice in her life, in the orphanage where she grew up and on a boat lost in a tempest. Warmth was a luxury that a Grisha Heartrender could afford, and Nina swore that she would never be cold again. Not after the orphanage. Not after the storm. Not after...

Novyi Zem was beautiful, but mostly, it was warm.

"What are you doing?" Matthias' voice called out -  rich, full of teasing and mirth. She could hear the steady beat of his heart as he came closer, walking toward her from the barn, where Colm kept his harvesting tools. 

Nina didn't have to open her eyes to know he was smiling. "Enjoying the sun," she replied.

Matthias scoffed, but he laid down next to her all the same.

"Do you not do that in Fjerda, drüskelle?" Nina opened her eyes and shot him a teasing glance. His cheeks were a ruddy pink, full of life and love. For a moment, Nina didn't want to let go. She shifted onto her side, but her eyes never left him. "Do you just sit around all day and hope the temperature drops below zero?"

Matthias rolled his eyes. Hips lips parted softly. "We are not in Fjerda."

"Thank the Saints for that. I've had enough ice to last a lifetime."

Matthias chuckled, and Nina bit her lip to stop a giddy grin from crossing her face. The sun beat down on them, warm and full of zest. Nina moved to grab his hand but hesitated, pausing halfway in the space between. Matthias didn't notice - his eyes were on the sky, far away from her.

"I would like to go back, someday." And the wind came by at the mention of Fjerda, as though he were summoning it all on his own. It made the jurda sway, and the breeze seemed to carry a message. 

"Take root... follow the water north..." 

Nina grabbed Matthias' strong hand; it was warm. She squeezed it tightly, feeling the steady beat of his heart; warm, alive.

"We'll go," Nina said, her smile smaller than before. Her voice cracked, and something was breaking in her chest because of it - something raw and heaving that didn't belong in Novyi Zem. Not with Colm Fahey - so kind as to invite everyone over to stay. Not with a home with fields of jurda and always enough flour to make waffles. Not the with this sun that shined down on them, begging them to stay. Not with the warmth and the love and the life.

"You will come with me?"

Nina blinked.

"And let you go alone? You'd never make it." And Matthias chuckled again, an exasperated breath of delight. His blue eyes were sparkling with the light of the sun. She let go of him slowly, their hands still brushing. He was here - he always would be. Nina taunted him more. "Have you ever had to charm a barkeep for a meal?"

"No. But I would work for one."

"Oh, so you would sell your body, then?"

Matthias' expression turned scandalous for a heartbeat. He turned to her incredulously, but when he saw the wide smile that stretched over Nina's face, he heaved a dry laugh. Nina raised her eyebrows and started to chuckle. 

"You—" but he was laughing too hard to finish, his breathy chuckles turning into bursts of rich laughter, a sound deep in his chest, warming Nina to the bone. She grinned with him, peals of laughter ripping through her until her sides hurt from the pure joy it all, the brightness of their love, all-encompassing and fading into the air. Nina's heart ached - it was too full.

She poked Matthias' sides, and his laughter intensified. Eventually, he captured her hands in his and held them close to his chest, still laughing, all the while. Their love was warm and radiant, but his eyes were an icy, frozen blue - the tundra from which he came. Nina stared into them deeply, wishing to memorize the look in his eyes. A beautiful, pale blue. Steady like the ice. Glassy...

Tears pricked Nina's eyes, spilling down her cheeks. She was crying.

For a moment, she wondered if it was from the laughter at all.

"We'll go together," Matthias affirmed, his voice no longer laughing, his expression turning back into that sculpted, strong sense of calm. He kissed her fingers before letting them go, reaching up to wipe the tears that glistened on her cheeks.

"Always?" Nina's voice shook, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in her tone. Her hands were shaking, but she couldn't understand why. Was it fear?

No.

No. Fear didn't belong here. Not in Novyi Zem. Not with Matthias.

Matthias had an easy smile on his face. He leaned back in the richly colored grass and sighed, content. "Are you planning on holding me hostage if I do not say yes?"

"If I say yes, will you stay?"

Matthias smiled and closed his eyes; he breathed deeply like he couldn't get enough air in his lungs. For a moment, Nina was in Ketterdam, crying over the dark cobblestones, holding Matthias in her arms. He was there, with her, and he was pale... so pale...

No.

"Matthias?"

He was smiling like some kind of victorious Saint, the sunlight woven into his hair. He didn't open his eyes.

"Helvar."

A jurda plant broke as though snapped by a nonexistent breeze. It fell on Matthias' chest, but its color was red, not that vibrant, wholesome orange. A red tulip from the Van Eck gardens - not from Novyi Zem. Not from here.

"Drüskelle!"

Matthias' eyes snapped open. He had just been dozing.

"Nina?"

They were on the dirty streets of Ketterdam. The world was chaos - full of plague alarms and hellfire - and Nina was slipping into her grief, drowning in mourning, floundering in this power that couldn't save him. She was holding onto him, again, but his body was already claimed by death; cold. So, so cold.

"Come back," Nina sobbed.

“I’m here for you, Nina. I'll always have your back.” But his voice was no longer his, just an echo of someone who once was, just the cruel imaginings of her mind, dark and hollow - grieving, still.

"Come back to me, then. Don't leave me, Matthias. Please."

"I have been made to protect you. Even in death, I will find a way."

Nina took in a shuddering breath, and all around her, the beauty of Novyi Zem crumbled. Her world - her beautiful, warm world - was fading, blanching into nothing and burning into pale, grey ash. The wind was whipping around her, and the Fjerdan ice was unforgivingly claiming her.

She was sitting on the shore with tears crystallized on her eyelashes. The sun had long since dipped over the horizon, and she was cold. So, so cold.

-- taglist: @musicallisto​, @catsbooksandmusic​​ // message me if you want to be added!

[dunk-on-em-ao3]

The Feathered Edge

Crowley was well-aware of the fact he wasn’t human. He also knew better than to even try to pretend. Sure, he covered his slitted eyes with dark glasses, and made sure his tongue didn’t split at the end, but that was the bare minimum.

No need in starting another witch hunt after all. Salem was bad enough.

But Aziraphale. Looked human. Acted human, to the point that other angels were annoyed by it. Fooled almost everyone he talked to.

Except for Crowley, who admittedly, took a long time to notice anything otherworldly about Aziraphale outside of his obvious miracles.  

They had spent centuries together, true. But their meetings were often brief and to the point. It wasn’t until Aziraphale moved to Soho and set up his bookshop that Crowley started to - pick up on certain characteristics of the angel. 

___

The first thing Crowley noticed was the glow. Not the glow of a tacky neon light in a 24/7 diner, but – something else.

He first noticed when he was at the angel’s bookshop. It was early in the morning, the first of May, and they were meeting to discuss the blessing and temptations of the month. Aziraphale was holding his ridiculous ceramic mug with the angel wings, and was blathering on about the importance of peace at the local farmer’s market being enforced or something along those lines. Crowley wasn’t particularly listening. He was watching the angel’s mug.

Every so often, when Aziraphale tilted it at just the right angle, the coffee mug seemed to slightly shine, reflecting the light of –

Reflecting the light of Aziraphale’s hand.

He had the softest glow, so soft it was hard to pick up on just by looking at him.

If Crowley was a romantic person, he might have described it as the glow of the sun peaking over the horizon during the dawn of humanity.

But he wasn’t romantic. Obviously.

So when Aziraphale huffed and said “Are you even listening, my dear? Do you agree?”

Crowley smiled with an “Of course, of course,” not at all knowing (or caring) about what he was getting into.

If Crowley’s eyes hadn’t been hidden, Aziraphale would have known Crowley’s eye’s never left his hand.

___

Once you noticed the glow, it was hard not to notice the hum.

Crowley was at his flat, debating on whether or not to drop by Aziraphale’s. It had been a bit since he had talked to the angel, and he was running out of ways to entertain himself in this deathly silent room.

He slowly stood up, closing his eyes and stretching his hands above his head. Maybe he could convince his angel to go to-

Suddenly, there was a whoosh of air, and Crowley opened his eyes to find Aziraphale nose to nose with him. Aziraphale hastily took a step back, and there was a dash of pink on his cheeks.

“I apologize for intruding like this, really!” The angel wrung his hands together. “But I’ve just received word that the new Thai restaurant down the corner currently has a two hour wait! And it closes in three! We must get in line immediately if we wish to make it in time!”

Crowley said nothing. His eyebrows furrowed together, as he tried to figure out why his room was no longer quiet. Aziraphale was talking, obviously, but there was something more. He strained his ears, and started to faintly detect something else.

Sort of like the buzz of a florescent light, only not as obnoxious, Crowley decided. More like a hum. It was almost soothing in a weird sort of way. It was a hum that pushed light and warmth into every dark corner. It spread like a blanket, soft and welcoming. It brought life into a room that otherwise felt lifeless.

The hum pushed its way into Crowley as well, and his mouth fell open as he audibly inhaled.

“That sounds divine, angel.”

And a table for two opened up.

___

It was right about then that Crowley started actively looking for glimpses into Aziraphale’s angelic side. Each time he saw the glow of his skin, or heard the hum of his breath, Crowley felt floored. He would stammer, and loose his train of thought. He would make a terrible fool of himself, and worst of all, Aziraphale would barely seem to notice. So he started to look closer.

And there was so much more.

If they were walking together through the busy streets of London, Crowley was never bumped into like he was when he was alone. The ordinary humans seemed to part for Aziraphale, even the ones that were on their phones. Aziraphale could stroll through the busiest corner of Times Square (if Crowley could ever get him to visit,) and never once brush shoulders with anyone.

On a different note, toddlers in the midst of a tantrum would quiet as soon as Aziraphale approached. Younger children would turn their heads toward him almost instinctively, and they would smile toothy grins that even Crowley found charming.

The wind never seemed to affect him, either. Storms would rip through the neighborhood in the early spring, and often they would be caught in a rain storm. In this particular instance, they were huddled under a store front, waiting for the clouds to pass. Crowley kept reaching up to brush his hair out of his own eyes. The wind was making it impossible to see anything, which meant he needed a haircut. He glanced over at Aziraphale, and couldn’t help but smile.

His angel’s curls were impeccable. Not a strand out of place. His coat didn’t blow in the wind, and cheeks still held the same glow even in the biting cold. He was a pillar in the storm, untouchable.

It was, in a word, intoxicating.

___

Then the world ended. Or tried to, at least. There was a flash, and Crowley and Aziraphale were back in their respective bodies, their plan to evade heaven and hell having worked. They stood in the center of Crowley’s flat, their hands grasped together to aid in the transition.

“I can scarcely believe it,” Aziraphale whispered, his hand still holding Crowley’s. “I had faith in her prophecy, of course, but to live it was-”

He was cut off by Crowley, who slowly raised a hand to brush across the angel’s face.

“You’re warm.”

“I beg pardon?”

“You’re warm. You’re warm to the touch. Always.”

“I suppose I-”

“I didn’t notice until I was literally in your body. You – you radiate warmth, Angel.”

“Crowley dear, what’s gotten into you?”

And there was so much that Crowley wanted to say in that moment. So much had gotten into Crowley, it was hard to put into words.

So he swallowed up 2000 years of pride, and put it into a kiss instead.

___

It was later.

Things had progressed. In retrospect, it progressed quite quickly, but to Crowley and Aziraphale it felt like a long time coming. They were on the couch in Aziraphale’s book shop. Well, Aziraphale was. Aziraphale was on the couch, and Crowley was on Aziraphale. Not the Aziraphale was complaining, mind you. His hands were slowly traveling up Crowley’s back, and there was a fully furnished bedroom upstairs where there hadn’t been before.

He doubted upstairs would be keeping tally of his miracles now anyway.

Crowley reached down and kissed the underside of Aziraphale’s jaw, and the angel decided that they would be in need of that bedroom now, thank you.

He stood up, hoisting Crowley into his arms effortlessly.

Crowley’s glasses had long since been lost, so Aziraphale had the joy of watching Crowley’s eyes widen impossibly.

“Angel, I-” he stammered, trying and failing to keep composure.

Aziraphale smiled as some pieces started to fit together in his mind.

“Yes dear?” He hummed as he lifted Crowley to his chest.

“Heaven above Angel, like this, don’t take me anywhere. I want you like this. Keep me like this.”

Aziraphale leaned up to Crowley’s kiss, tightening his grip on his demon. He would listen for now. But soon they would move to the wall soon, where Crowley would see just how strong the angel could be.

___

Crowley knew about halos. He had been an angel himself, albeit brief. He knew that halos were kept private, only to been seen when appearing to a human in an official capacity.

Crowley sat on the edge of Aziraphale’s new bed, gazing on the rare sight of Aziraphale sleeping. His curls fanned out above his head, and a soft ring of light surrounded them. He was, in a word, beautiful.

Crowley, breathless, tried to run his fingers through the glowing halo. A warmth, not unpleasant, swept through his body.

Aziraphale opened one eye.

“My dear?”

And Crowley threw himself back in the Angel’s arms.

[nicknellie]

@sunnysbright requested: something flarrie pls, maybe like a cute date or something, also pls include 🍓

Anonymous requested: flarrie first date pls!!!!

Seeing as both of these requests were for a flarrie date I decided to combine them into one prompt. I included strawberries, but I’m not gonna lie, I’m no expert on how strawberries grow and stuff like that so you might have to suspend your disbelief lmao. Anyway, these prompts were really cute and I love writing for flarrie, so this was a lot of fun. Thank you so much for your requests!

Like Summer

As far as first dates went, Flynn thought she had outdone herself. She had picked the right day, with the sun streaking through the canopy to bathe her and Carrie in its warm summer light, the slightest breeze and the shelter from the trees keeping them just cool enough. The activity couldn’t have been better either – it was Flynn’s opinion that Carrie needed to get out more, so she had packed them each a rucksack and brought Carrie hiking through the forest.

Though judging by all the grumbling, Carrie wasn’t quite enjoying it as much as Flynn.

“You could have at least told me we’d be doing this,” she groused, not fifteen minutes in. “That way I might have been prepared.”

A dozen or so paces ahead of Carrie, Flynn grinned to herself. She had purposely been secretive about what she had planned for their date, fully aware that if Carrie knew she’d be walking through a forest for three hours she would be less than excited. But still, Flynn knew their destination would lift Carrie’s spirits and that all the complaining she was about to receive would be completely worth it.

“If I had told you what we were doing you wouldn’t have come,” Flynn called over her shoulder.

“You know me so well,” Carrie deadpanned. “I’m not even wearing proper shoes for this.”

Flynn briefly turned back to glimpse Carrie’s dainty slip-ons already caked in mud. The rest of Carrie was looking a little worse for wear too; she had pulled her hair into a ponytail that was starting to look like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards, the sleeves of her cardigan were rolled up to the elbow, and the hem of her dress was grass stained. Flynn couldn’t help but feel a little bad, but equally she was probably one of the few people to ever see Carrie Wilson looking less than perfect, so in a way her state of utter disarray was endearing.

“You’re not wearing proper anything for this,” Flynn corrected. “But you let me choose what we were doing. You should have been prepared for anything.”

Carrie rolled her eyes and stormed ahead of Flynn, nose in the air, clearly displeased. Flynn was sure that Carrie wasn’t as moody as she was making it out to be. This had always been their dynamic – quick wit, insults, and snide remarks hiding that little flame of affection that had gradually blossomed into a roaring fire. Now that they were finally on an official date, they still kept that sense of rivalry, but it was diluted by the fact that they had finally admitted to one another how they felt. So Flynn wasn’t worried about Carrie’s mood, and even if she was really grumpy Flynn knew she would be able to cheer her up one way or another.

Plus her bad mood might have been more intimidating if she hadn’t fallen into a bush fifteen seconds later. Flynn was laughing so hard as she tried to tug her out that she dropped her back in several times.

Not long later (although with Carrie’s complaints it felt much longer) they came to a break in the treeline that exposed a hill, the grass coloured a summery bright green. Over the hill Flynn saw the sky for the first time since they’d entered the forest – pure blue, no trace of any clouds, the sun high in the sky. It was inviting and warm and she couldn’t help but feel happy. She glanced at Carrie and felt her breath hitch in her throat.

The thing was, Carrie shouldn’t have looked so good at that moment. She was covered in mud, her hair was a mess, there were ladders in her tights and an enormous rip in the shoulder of her cardigan, and she had been scowling so much on their hike that there were lines on her face Flynn was sure hadn’t been there before. But the sun gleaming down on her lit her hair like a halo and made her skin glow, and for the first time in hours she really let herself smile, an unhidden release of joy that reassured Flynn that she really was enjoying herself. She looked like a painting, so gorgeous that she couldn’t possibly have been real. She blew her hair away from her face and then flipped it over her shoulder, seeming like she moved in slow motion.

“Flynn!”

Flynn was snapped out of her thoughts by Carrie’s voice. Judging by her face, she had called Flynn’s name more than once. Flynn smiled pleasantly, trying to act as if she hadn’t just been worshipping Carrie like a goddess.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s up? That hill.” Carrie pointed up the slope.

“Oh, that. Didn’t see that there.”

“Are you seriously going to make me climb that?” Carrie said, glaring daggers at Flynn.

Flynn wasn’t fazed. She slipped her hand into Carrie’s, delighted with the blush it elicited from her and the tiny quirk of her lips as she suppressed a smile. Flynn knew better than anyone that Carrie was all talk – she could pretend to be as angry as she wanted, but it was easy to tear down those walls with something as simple as holding her hand.

“Yes,” Flynn said brightly as Carrie regained her composure. “It’s not that steep and you can literally see the top from here. Plus, when we get up there I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Carrie pouted. “My legs ache. This better be somewhere we can sit down.”

“I could carry you up the hill if you’d like,” Flynn half-joked, winking at Carrie. Again, Carrie flushed pink, easily ruffled.

“I can walk myself, thank you very much,” she said, and set off up the hill ahead of Flynn.

It was, truthfully, a very small hill, so it took them barely two minutes to reach the top. It was hotter at the top of the hill, free of the shade the forest had provided, but Flynn wasn’t bothered with the heat – she was looking at Carrie to make certain that this had all been worth it.

Thankfully, Carrie was smiling. No, she was positively beaming, a glimmer in her eye that made her look happier than Flynn thought she had ever seen.

“You like the view?” Flynn asked. Carrie nodded mutely, wonder plain as day on her face. Flynn inwardly breathed a sigh of relief – she had been sure Carrie would like it up here, but to have it go down well in reality was a whole different feeling.

She tore her eyes away from Carrie and looked out across the scenery for herself. Right in front of them was a large field, uncut grass swaying in the gentle breeze, the whole area lined with row upon row of strawberry plants, ripe and ready to eat. Spanning out below them was a splendid view of the ocean, the sea glittering with dashed sunlight, boats framed by gold as they floated on the horizon. It was a sight Flynn had seen many a time before when she had walked this same route with her family and after she had discovered Carrie’s love of strawberries she had known she had to share it with her.

“The walk was worth it?” she checked, sliding her hand back into Carrie’s.

“The walk was worth it,” she confirmed, gripping Flynn’s hand tight as she raised it to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Flynn felt her heart flutter, getting a little hot, and not because of the sun. “I did know you had something amazing planned – you know that, don’t you?”

“I know,” Flynn replied, leading Carrie to the hedgerows. “I knew that your whining all the way up here wasn’t you not enjoying yourself, it was just your personality.”

“The same way I knew how you being so stubborn and refusing to tell me what we were doing wasn’t you being a complete control freak, it was just you trying to surprise me,” Carrie quipped.

Flynn grinned, ready to rise to her challenge, but as soon as she opened her mouth Carrie silenced her by sticking a strawberry in there. Surprised, Flynn had no choice but to bite into it – luckily, Carrie had picked a ripe one, and the flavour danced over her tongue, tasting like summer.

“These are safe to eat, right?” Carrie asked, picking up another strawberry and inspecting it closely.

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “You’re only saying that after you put one in my mouth? Should I be worried?”

“Yes,” Carrie said. Flynn rolled her eyes fondly. “But they are safe to eat, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if you couldn’t eat as many strawberries as your heart desires,” Flynn said wistfully. Carrie beamed again, that smile as bright as the sun, and popped the strawberry into her mouth. She sighed contentedly, all of her earlier gripes seeming to be completely forgotten.

“Good?” Flynn said.

“So good,” Carrie replied.

Flynn lost track of how long they stayed there together, feasting on strawberries, feeding them to one another, basking in the sun, laughing and joking and talking, doing nothing more than simply enjoying each other’s company. As far as first dates went, Flynn was pretty certain this one couldn’t have gone any better. It felt like they had been on a thousand dates just like this before: comfortable, familiar, utterly perfect. With the sun on her skin and Carrie’s hand in hers, Flynn couldn’t imagine anywhere she would rather be.

They shared a few tentative, slightly nervous kisses. They tasted of the strawberries they had been eating. Flynn had never kissed anyone before, but she was certain that there was only one person she ever wanted to kiss from then on, and it was Carrie Wilson. The feeling of Carrie’s lips on hers sent shivers down her spine despite the hot weather. It was thrilling and calming at the same time, a sensation like no other, but Flynn was drunk on it.

As the afternoon wore on, the sun drifted slowly across the sky, and Flynn realised they needed to start heading back before it got too dark.

“I wish I could bring some of these strawberries back,” Carrie thought aloud.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Flynn announced. She had known Carrie would say that, and she was prepared for it. She dug around in her backpack for a while and eventually pulled out another bag, this one empty. She handed it to a bemused Carrie, smiling proudly at her own predictive skills. “So you can collect some and take them with you. I knew you’d want to.”

There was a small, soft smile on Carrie’s face, something in it that Flynn couldn’t quite name. She watched as Carrie practically bounced back to the hedges, giddy in a way that Flynn had hardly ever seen her before, and followed after her to give her a hand.

When the bag was nearly full, Carrie zipped it up and shouldered it, reaching for Flynn’s hand and leading the two of them back down the hill towards the forest, back the way they had come.

“I can carry the bag if you like,” Flynn offered, trying to be a good date.

“I’ve got it,” Carrie insisted.

“I thought you’d be eating them as we walked back,” Flynn said.

Carrie just smiled. “These aren’t for me. They’re for you.”

“Me?”

Carrie nodded briskly. “I’m going to make you a pie.”

Flynn almost laughed. “What for?”

“As a thank-you,” Carrie said like it should have been obvious. “You organised this entire amazing day and all I did was tag along. So, to show how much I care about you and how great today was, I’m making you a pie.”

“I– thank you.” Flynn tried to keep the tremor from her voice, trying not to show how touched she was. She liked this aspect of what they had – they were always equal, it was never one of them putting in more effort than the other. It showed how much they cared, how much they respected each other. It made Flynn feel loved.

But it was too early for love, she knew that. It was only their first date after all.

Carrie rolled her eyes again, but there was a blush on her cheeks. She squeezed Flynn’s hand affectionately and they walked the rest of the way back through the forest in comfortable silence.

*

The next day, Flynn’s legs were killing her. She texted Carrie as soon as she woke up, but other than that she allowed herself to sleep in until late, resting her aching joints. She just laid in bed and spoke to Carrie, remembering how perfect the day before had been and becoming ever more eager to go on another date.

She had almost forgotten Carrie’s promise until the text came: I’m outside your house by the way.

Flynn leapt out of bed and peaked out of her bedroom window. Sure enough, Carrie was stepping out of her dad’s car and walking up Flynn’s driveway. In her hands she held a large dish, mostly covered by tinfoil.

Ignoring the fact that she was still wearing her pyjamas even though it was nearing one o’clock, Flynn ran as fast as her tired legs would carry her from her bedroom to the front door. She opened it before Carrie even had time to knock.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. Carrie looked a lot less haggard than she had on their walk yesterday, beautiful even without the gleam of the sun on her face. The smell of the pie gently wafted out from underneath its covering.

“Hey,” Carrie replied, smiling sheepishly. She held the dish out and Flynn took it carefully. “I told you I’d make you a pie.”

Gently, Flynn pulled back the tinfoil and saw perfect pastry filled with bright red strawberries, covered with careful latticing and lots of tiny pastry hearts. Carrie was blushing the same shade as the strawberries and Flynn didn’t remember ever feeling so touched.

“It looks great,” she said, smiling up at her girlfriend. “Do you want to come in for a bit and have some?”

“I’d love to,” Carrie returned.

Flynn led her to the kitchen, cut them both a slice of pie each, and completed it with whipped cream. They sat at the table together, quietly eating their pie, the strawberries just as sweet as they had been the day before, the mood just as bright and comfortable. Flynn thought that if being with Carrie was so easy, there would definitely be a lot more dates and a lot more shared strawberry pies in the future. And she was more than alright with that.

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh 

[whitherliliesbloom]

in a place where dreams continue

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #25 - silver lining ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 1,422 words ]  ★ [ mermaid au ]

silver lining- advantage that comes from a difficult or unpleasant situation

getting caught in a terrible storm and being thrown overboard may just be the worst thing that has ever happened to alphinaud - or the best.

The Ignia Satella is the safest ship across the seven seas - as Captain Carvallain would be so quick to boast. Even with Alphinaud’s own trepidations and doubts about setting foot anywhere near the ocean, it was only because of the sheer size and reputation of the ship and its crew that the young prince of old Sharlayan finally agreed to take his first maiden voyage across the seven seas to visit Eorzea and meet with the nation leaders of its four city states as per his duty as son of king Fourchenault.

Sometimes, he’d wished that he let his own fears get the better of him, however... because not even halfway through the journey, a storm of crashing waves and deafeningly loud lightning broke, rocking the boat so violently that he had inevitably been thrown off the railings and overboard into the cruel, cold abyss of the dark ocean below.

Alphinaud could not even hope to survive in still waters, let alone in the midst of a storm as waves upon waves carried him further away from the ship. The frantic voices of the crewmates were growing more distant - not that he’d hear them when his ears are clogged full of seawater and the sounds of the thunder mocking his demise. 

Death by drowning had been one of the young prince’s worst nightmares, and to have it be realized so soon after he’d decided to metaphorically and literally take the plunge filled his heart with a crippling, painful regret that ached his heart as he allowed his consciousness to slip.

He doesn’t know how long he’s passed out for - or if he even is alive anymore. But his eyelids flutter open to the blinding sun above his head - cotton candy clouds dusted among a baby blue morning sky. 

His body feels heavy - like a sack of popotos and he can barely even feel his limbs as his navy blue eyes struggle to regain his focus. He no longer feels like he’s floating - or rather sinking... he realizes then that he’s lying on the back and he can feel the rough, grainy feel of sand sticking to his bare skin.

It takes a good several minutes for him to finally come to his senses enough to remember the flashing of lightning, the battering of waves against the wooden haul of a boat and the loud sound of a splash as he fell overboard-

By... by the twelve, he fell overboard. He should be dead.

“A-are you okay?” He hears a voice beside his ear, no louder than a whisper and sweet like a songbird’s. “Can you hear me?”

Alphinaud turns his head to the side, vision still a tad blurry, but focused enough now to be able to make out the shape of a veil of long, cascading hair that reflected the light of the sun over glistening skin, and a pair of gleaming violet eyes that swirled with the color of the galaxies.

When the young prince fails to respond, the stranger draws herself closer with her elbows, the silver circlet she wore like a crown glowing incandescently in the sun and framing her head like a halo. 

Her features are ethereal, unnaturally so. From the beauty of her glowing eyes to the light fairness of her damp skin. Even with stray strands of pure white hair clinging to the sides of her face and neck, she looks like an angel without compare.

“Ah...” 

He surmises that he’s dead, and closes his eyes with a lengthy sigh. 

“To think...I would find myself in the after life so soon and be greeted by an angel....”

Before he can lament his short lifespan any further, he feels his cheek being pinched - not hard enough to hurt terribly... but just enough of a sting to jolt him back to his senses and open his eyes in shock once again.

“O-Ow!” He finally rolls back, sitting himself up with a loud pant and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, feeling the wrinkled skin upon the pads of his fingers with a grimace. 

When he finally moves his hands away he’s staring out at an endless ocean, the deep blue waters meeting the lighter sky in the distant horizons with not a ship or hint of land in sight. 

He feels the light nudging of the waters against his legs as the tides push and pull, as if to wake him up from his daydream.

He’s.... not dead. 

No, it would appear that he’s washed up on a beach somehow- whether near or far from Sharlayan, he could not tell. And try as he might, he could not find strength in his legs nor his arms to push himself up to stand.

And thus he can only turn his head to look at the one who had woken him from his unconsciousness, and it is only then that he fully takes in the peculiarity of the woman before him.

The girl’s no angel - even if she looks fully the part... but the light blue fabric of her wet dress does nothing to conceal the long, fish-like tail that sat in place of where her legs should be - the iris purple to cerulean blue ombre of her scales holo and iridescent, reflecting the light as brightly as her hair and eyes. 

Though her skin from her chest above is bare and clear, he also notices blue scales climbing up the sides of her neck and cheeks as if to draw more attention to her delicate features.

“Um...” Her lips part, snapping out of his daydream, “Are you... are you okay now? You’re not still delirious are you?”

Words nearly die at his throat, Alphinaud finds it difficult to speak... but he forces himself to anyway, cringing internally at how hollow and strained his voice sounded. 

“I... Yes, I’m... I think I’m alright. I’m not dead, at the very least...”

The girl visibly relaxes, but stiffens again when she notes the boy’s eyes surveying from head to fin and then back up again.

“Y-you’re... a mermaid???” 

The snow haired girl jolts, expression twisting into realization and fluster.

“O-Oh- Oh no... I...” 

Her cheeks burn a bright red shade, spreading across her nose and to the tips of her pointed ears, and Alphinaud bites back the urge to compliment her cuteness.

“I should’ve left... I’m not supposed to be..” She’s stammering on her words, head tilting to the side and averting her eyes from his gaze. He hears sand crunching as she props her elbows up to push herself back towards the waters. “I-I’ll be going now-”

“W-wait!” the boy raises his voice - though he hadn’t meant to... but the young mermaid girl seemed startled enough to still herself and swallow a gulp before hesitantly turning her violet eyes to look back up at him. “I-i’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, miss. I just... have many questions.. and I’m not sure I’d be able to get any answers if you leave me here.”

Alphinaud’s come to terms with the very real possibility that he’s stranded - it would make sense for how uninhabited his surroundings seem - with a dense canopy of trees of a tropical forest behind him, a pile of rocks not too far from the sandy beach they sat upon sheltering what seemed to be a coastal cove. 

And though he knows the girl belonged within the safety of the waters, the exact opposite of where a floundering young man like him would thrive, losing the only person here who could potentially speak and understand him scares him as a prospect more than living his days out on a stranded island. 

“You were also the one who saved me, weren’t you?” Alphinaud takes an educated guess, and judging by the sheepish dart of the girl’s gaze away from him before a small, timid nod, he was right. “I’ve yet to thank you fully yet... for saving my life. So, won’t you stay miss? I promise I won’t make you talk about anything you’re not comfortable with.”

It takes a long moment and what felt like an eternity for the girl to contemplate and ponder over her thoughts- whatever it may be... but Alphinaud patiently awaits her answer and finally lets out a wide, warm smile when the girl finally nods once again, tucking and folding her tail behind her and sitting herself up, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“O-okay... I’ll stay.”