#anyway. yes dawn of the clans is very very good so far

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

I'm wayyyyy behind on this series and still catching up, but so far, Dawn of the Clans is the best arc of Warriors since the original six

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Goodbye

Pairing: Dan!Din Djarin x Teen GN reader

Request:

 hello ily u and ur writings are so great

uhhh may i request dad!din with a teenage reader (like, 15 idk) after grogu leaves with luke? like maybe comforting each other, and the reader asking what happens next, etc etc

just some good ol' angst fluff :] 💞

Scenario: After Grogu leaves with Luke the Reader and Din comfort one another after having to say goodbye.

Rating: PG

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 1,980

A/N: I love you!! Thank you so much for reading and I’m sooo happy you like my writings. And yes! I LOVED that Idea. I hope you don’t mind if I sort of went with my own thing for how the reader and Din argued a bit, it sort of just made sense in the situation??? Anyways, I hope you like what I came up with :))) I haven’t written anything in awhile so I’m a tad rusty. 

  Saying goodbye to each other was always something you’d always known would happen.  You simply chose to not think about it and greedily hoped that Din would not be able to find another Jedi who would take Grogu under their wing. In your world, Clan Mudhorn would never break apart and you’d three live together for a very long time. However, life in its mysterious ways is ever changing and never promises one’s future. It certainly never promised yours. 

You thought of this as you watched the Jedi in front of you. It was not just any Jedi, but a Jedi who was offering to take care of  your little brother. You felt your face blanch at the thought of Grogu leaving you and Din. The thought of you leaving this ship with only Din and the memories you’d made with Grogu terrified you. It couldn’t be real. It can’t be real. You shut your eyes tight, turning your head toward the ground before anyone could see your expression. 

“Y/N.” 

Din’s hand rested on your shoulder, when you’d looked up you were surprised to meet flesh instead of metal. He took off his helmet. For a moment there was nothing that mattered but the expression your guardian made. It was… sad. Tears pricked his eyes, something you’d never expected to see from him. Din gave you the tiniest of smiles and told you it was time to say goodbye.

Goodbye?

Din held Grogu out for you to take. Slowly you accepted him close and relished one last time on what it was like to hug him tight.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuu, ner vod.” You whispered. During the time the two of you spent with Din he’d taken it upon himself to teach you Mando’a. It’d become a habit to show affection in his native tongue. Grogu cooed, leaning away to take in your face. You gave him a tight lipped smile, taking in his own. He’d grown so much. It was hard to believe that he was once a small little thing. “ I’ll always be your sibling. Don’t forget me.”

You sat Grogu back down on the floor and began to rummage through your bag before pulling out a small, plush frog, making Grogu’s ears perk up.

“Can Grogu take this with him?”

 Luke nodded, but Grogu made it clear that he wanted you to keep the plush when he wouldn’t reach out for it like he always did. Instead, he stared at you with his big eyes before gently pushing the frog back to you. You bit back a frown. You wanted to ask him, beg him to take the frog you’d put so much love into just for him. Instead you stood up straight and held the plush close to your chest, glancing again at Din who was holding a stoic expression. You forced a smile onto your face.

The goodbye was harder than you’d imagined. So was the deafening silence when the Jedi, his droid, and Grogu disappeared into the elevator. 

The moment the elevator door shut you snapped your head towards Din, but he turned his back to you and walked away. He wandered to the far end of the room and stayed there, quiet as he kept to himself. His hands fiddled with the darksaber that weighed more than you ever imagined it would before this mission began.

It was easy to forget that there were others in the room, though you were quickly reminded of their presence when they surrounded you to provide comforting words, some giving warm embraces and telling you about their own separations from loved ones. They reassured you that you would be fine in the end. You didn’t believe them. Fennec was talking to you, but your focus was on the far side of the room where Din was currently talking to Bo-Katan and Cara. You wondered what they talked about. You wondered what was going to happen now. Now, that the clan lost one member and had no ship to call home. 

Din would barely look at you when Bo-Katan and the other women left the cockpit, looking for supplies and scrounging up any valuable information left. That was assuming that there was no emergency delete button someone pushed in a panic amid the raid. You didn’t bother thinking about it long, as you stared at the back of Din’s head. He’d kept his helmet off, making it the longest that you’ve seen him without it. You stared at the helmet from where it sat on top of the mainframe. 

“Are you going to rule Mandalore now?” Your voice cut through the barrier between the two of you, making Din shuffle in his steps.

His back remained towards you and his tone was cold. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

You frowned, taken aback by this sudden attitude he’d taken on. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t want to talk right now’?”

“Exactly that.” 

“But I want to.” You crossed your arms. 

“It can wait.” 

His response came off indifferent as though he wanted to move on. For a moment you felt like you’d shut down, sure there were times where Din would behave like this coming home after a long day, too exhausted to deal with two children. But he’d never done this before. No. This was new. You didn’t like new. Not now, not when things were so uncertain for you.

“You can’t just shut me out so quickly!” You walked up so that you spoke to his back. “You’re not the only one who just went through that. I never wanted to say goodbye to Grogu. I didn’t think it’d be this soon, either. I didn’t think that. And now I don’t know what you’re going to do after this, where you’re going to go, if you’re going to let me go with you, if-”

“If I let you go with me?” Din turned to face you, eyebrows furrowed. “Y/N, of course you’re coming with me. You’re my foundling.”

“So was Grogu!” You exclaimed, suddenly realizing that tears were streaming down your face. The stress and grief were suddenly catching up to you and it showed, causing Din to raise his hands up a little. He slowly lowered them, seemingly in thought. He sighed, and gently pulled you to sit down with him on some chairs by the mainframe. You felt ashamed of yourself for crying in front of him, but didn’t say anything. Instead you were wiping your tears with your shirt as you waited for him to finally speak.

“You know Grogu is too strong with his magic to be left without training.” Din scratched his ear, eyes downward so that you couldn’t see the tears pricking his eyes again. “You… you’re only a kid. You remember that, right? You need me to protect you before you’re strong enough to leave the clan.”

You stared at him with big eyes as though you were pretending to process what he was saying. But you understood what he meant. He had the best intentions for Grogu and he has the same intentions for you. You were lucky to have someone like Din. The cloth of your shirt suddenly caught your interest as you stared down at it, playing it in between your fingers.

You sniffed, rubbing your arm across your nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you…”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Din wrapped an arm across your shoulder and pulled you close. As you settled into him you rested your head against his shoulder, waiting for him to say something though he never did. Maybe he was thinking about Grogu. It wouldn’t be a surprise. Anyone could see how much he’d grown attached to the little thing, despite his initial response to having to care for him. 

“You’re a great dad…” You whispered, playing with the frog in your hands. Din smiled warmly, something you missed as you continued to look down.

“Do you remember how happy Grogu was when you gave him that frog?” Din’s voice made the armor he’d dawned vibrate slightly. It ticked your cheek. You liked how it felt.

“Mhm.” You nodded as you made the frog dance in your hands. It’s chipped, mismatched buttons stared back at the two of you. 

“When I was young I used to lose my toys all the time.” 

You looked up at him, “But that was before the Mandalorians took you in, right? Weren’t they, I dunno, strict about toys?”

“No.” Din looked off, watching the stars that decorated the space they shared. “If they found a kid that still had their toy with them  they didn’t take it away. In my clan, every child had a toy of their own, to help make their transition easier, though I kept losing mine.” 

The two of you shared a small laugh. Din shook his head and looked at you fondly. “Grogo went everywhere with that frog. It meant so much to him. Guess it was because of you.”

You didn’t say anything. A warmth began to spread through your sternum at Din’s remarks. You hugged the frog close to your chest. It still smelled like Grogu. The same, earth-like geranium that followed him around. He knew that you needed the plush more than he did now that you had to say goodbye, and you were thankful for that.

 “Are you going to miss him?” 

“Of course I am.” Din nodded solemnly before he turned towards you and ruffled your hair. “But we’ll see him again.”

A moment of silence falls upon you two, one of the mainframes makes a sound and the security shows the women entering a room on the other side of the ship. They were covering good ground and carried several bags of what was assumed to be supplies for their next mission. Would Din be a part of that mission? 

“So, what happens now?” You inquired, glancing up at him. “Are you going to rule Mandalore?”

Din looked up and inhaled deeply as though he was pondering the question. He must have made some sort of plan prior. But his possession of the dark saber meant that plans had now changed. “I never expected to become a… king. Though, there’s not much to be king of.”

Behind closed doors between Din and the adults you’d hear bits and pieces about what the Empire had done to the planet. Though you were heavily uninformed, you had a good grasp that the planet was practically not worth ruling. 

“Are you going to go with Bo-Katan? She wants to take back Mandalore. With you as king it’d be fitting.”

You didn’t miss how Din grimaced slightly at her name. “What?”

Din pushed himself up and motioned for you to follow as he grabbed his helmet and began walking out. He draped an arm across your shoulder when you caught up to his pace. “Bo-Katan doesn’t seem to be all too happy with me having the darksaber. I should keep some distance and wait for her to cool off.”

 You whispered a small ‘oh’ and looked ahead. Guess he wasn’t going to go with her then. “So we have no plans then, great.”

Din glanced at you, “ What do you think we should do?”

Your mind flashed back several days ago to when you’d barely escaped being destroyed along with the razor crest. “I miss the ship.”

“You and me both.” 

“Do you think we can find a new one?”

“You can’t just find a ship, kid. It’s gonna need some credits.”

“Yeah but technically you’re a king now! Use that royalty of yours and get us one.”

“That’s not how it works kid.”

“You don’t know yet! You’ve been king for what, five minutes?”

“Maybe I will leave you here.” 

“No you won’t. You love me too much to do that.”

[colormeyondublue]

Chapter 15: Reunion

Chapter 14 Here - Chapter 16 Here

The ship lands about a half mile from your house, and you instruct Yondu to stay hidden until you come back. You weren’t sure if your mom was awake, or if she was even going to be there at all. You make sure to take a knife with you in case you come across any hostile people on the way in. Taking a blaster could blow Yondu’s cover. You give your captain a long and passionate kiss, and look him directly in the eye.

“I love you. No matter what happens, just know how much I love you.” You say in a serious tone.

He nods and watches you walk off the ship into the small patch of woods that separates you from your family.

You walk with purpose toward the house, and once you get closer, you can see light through the windows. That’s a good sign at least. As you move up the driveway and toward the front door, you stop. This is so strange. This is my home, but it feels so foreign to me now.

You approach the door, and ready yourself to knock. It dawns on you that you don’t really know what time it is, but you figure that doesn’t matter at this point. You knock quickly and wait. There is no answer, so you knock again. After a few moments you hear some footsteps and the locks turning from inside. The door opens, and there she is – your mother.

You both stare at each other for what feels like an eternity before you speak up.

“Mom?”

“y/n? Y/N?!” Your mother pulls you in the door and begins to sob. You have to hold her up to keep her from collapsing on the floor from shock.

“Mom, mom it’s okay. It’s me, I’m okay, I’m here.” You try to calm her as best you can.

“How can it be? I thought we lost you forever, I thought you were…”

You hold your mother in a tight embrace and reassure her that you are real, and that you’re alive.

“I know mom, I know. I’m so sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I’m here now. A really good friend of mine helped me get back to you.”

“Your sister! We have to call your sister! She has to know you’re here!”

“We will, we will. But first, there is so much to explain. There is so much I have to tell you.”

She takes a small step back and looks at your leathers. “What are you wearing? You look taller. Where have you been all this time?!” She begins to ask questions faster than you can answer them.

“Mom! Slow down, I will answer every question you have. Why don’t we go sit down? You look like you need some water anyway.” You laugh.

You both get comfortable in the living room with snacks and drinks. She begins by expressing just how blown away she is to see you again, and how thankful she is that you’re alive.

“So, mom, what I’m about to tell you is going to sound absolutely insane. You have to know that I am telling you the truth, and nothing but the truth. This is going to go against everything you’ve ever believed to be true. Just try to have an open mind. Okay?”

She nods hesitantly and you continue.

“The day you lost me, at our camping spot? I took a walk to the river that morning, and I came across some people who aren’t like us. I was kidnapped and taken very far away. They sold me to other people who I eventually escaped from. Once I escaped, I had no way to get home so I just did what I could to survive. I got a job and lived however I could.”

You let this information sink in a little before you told her the rest. “Mom, the people who took me weren’t from Earth.”

She stared at you for a moment. “Weren’t from Earth, like…aliens?” She asked.

“Yes, like aliens.”

“You’re telling me that you’ve been living in space all this time?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m wearing these clothes, and that’s why I have this badge.” You point to your ravager badge and wait for her response.

She holds her hand to her mouth for a while before speaking. “Okay, I told you I would have an open mind. Keep going.”

“I lived and worked on a planet called Krylor. From there, I met a Captain of a Ravager clan named Yondu Udonta. He took me in and hired me as a secretary to work on his ship. I’ve been with him for several months. That’s what this badge is.”

“What’s a Ravager clan?”

“Oh, uh…think of them as pirates. Heh.” You shrug and try to smile.

“Okay, so let me wrap my head around this. You’ve been living and working in space, with pirates, after you were kidnapped by aliens?”

“In a nutshell, yes. That’s what happened. Look, mom, I know it sounds absolutely crazy! But I am telling you the truth. If you need some concrete evidence, I can get you some. My friend who brought me here, he’s actually here with me. I can bring him here, and you can meet him. He is totally safe and friendly. Just let me go get him and you’ll see!” You say excitedly.

You can tell that your mom is still processing it all. You just showed up at her front door after being gone for years and it’s not quite sinking in.

“But if you need more time, we can wait? Problem is he can’t walk around in the day time. He’s…not exactly human.”

“Your friend is an alien?!” She exclaims.

“Well, yeah. What else would he be?”

“I’m going to meet an alien?” She whispers.

“Yes, you are going meet my friend, the alien.” You laugh. “Do you think you can handle that?”

“I think so…”

“I will go get him right now, but you have to understand a few things first. Okay?”

“Like what?”

“First, you cannot call him an alien. It’s rude. Second, he can understand every single word you say, but you will not be able to understand him. Third, he is a drastically different color than we are. Try not to stare, okay?”

“Okay, so don’t call him an alien, don’t say anything bad, and don’t stare. I think I can do that. Gosh I’m so nervous!”

“Everything will be fine, mom. I promise. You sit tight, and I will back in a little bit. Okay?”

“Wait! You promise you’ll come back?”

You stop yourself from heading to the door and turn to look at your mom. She has worry in her eyes and you can tell she is genuinely afraid you aren’t coming back through that door. Like she’s going to lose you again.

“I promise I will come back.” You hug her tight again, and disappear through the front door.

You quickly make your way through the woods in the direction of the Warbird. Because the ship is cloaked, you can’t actually see it, but there is a signal sent to your comm that you used to pinpoint it. You comm Yondu to come out of the ship to meet you. He meets you outside a leans against a large oak tree.

“So, how’d it go? Was she there?”

“Yeah. She was there. I saw my mom for the first time in over 3 years. It was really surreal. I told her everything…well almost everything. But she took it a lot better than I thought. There were times she didn’t know what to think, but she seemed to believe me.”

“Wow. Well, there ya go. What’s the plan now?”

“Now, you’re coming up to the house with me. I already prepared her for your arrival and I got her up to speed on who you are and what you do. She knows that she won’t be able to understand you when you speak.”

“Alright, then. As long as yer sure about all this, lets get goin’. I trust ya.”

You lead Yondu back toward your house and take a deep breath when you reach the door. You turn to face yondu, brush his shouders off, and straighten his duster.

“Honey, it’s gonna be fine.” He whispers.

“Okay, okay.” You say before you knock softly on the door. Your mom calls out that it’s unlocked, and you hesitantly creep inside with Yondu behind you.

“Mom? We’re here! Where are you?”

“I’m in the kitchen, I’ll be right in.”

“Uhh…mom maybe you should sit down first? Just to be safe?”

“Stop worrying! I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute!”

There are dishes clanking around, and you hear her close and start the dishwasher. You recall from your childhood years that she used to do dishes when she was anxious about something. If there weren’t any dishes to do, she would turn to cleaning instead.

You lead Yondu into the living room and look at him with nervous eyes. He smiles and pulls you into a brief hug – squeezing you tightly before letting go again.

You breathe in the scent of his duster and smile a little dopey smile. “How do you always know what I need?”

Just then, you see his eyes dart over your shoulder and his loving expression fade. You whip around to see your mom standing in the doorway.

They both just stare at each other for a while, and you can’t stand how awkward it is.

“Mom, this is Yondu Udonta. My Captain. He brought me home to find you. And, Yondu…this is my mom.” Yondu takes a step forward and stretches out a hand.

“It’s nice ta meet you, ma’am. Your daughter is quite a woman.”

Your mom stares blankly at him and then looks down at his hand. After a moment or two it clicks, and she gingerly takes his hand to lightly shake it.

She glances at you with uncertain an expression. “What did he just say? It just sounded like jumbled words I’ve never heard and some clicking sounds here and there.”

“Oh! Right, he said that it’s very nice to meet you, and your daughter is a nice young lady. That’s all.”

“Do ya want me ta just get her a translator? I might have one on the ship.” Yondu asks.

“No, we don’t have a way to take it out when we leave. I don’t want to leave her with it in case she has to get imaging done or something and other humans find it.”

“Oh, yer right. Damn.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind translating.” You smile warmly at him.

“So, mom, I have been with Captain Udonta for a few months now. I work on his ship and help him with daily operations as well as mission operations too. My life has gotten significantly better since joining his clan. Life out there can be really hard and pretty scary, Yondu has turned everything around for me.” You look at Yondu who is now seated beside you on the loveseat, and place your hand on his knee. He smiles back and throws his arm around your shoulders as he settles into the couch.

Your mom looks at Yondu, back at you, and back at Yondu again. “So…what exactly…where exactly…do you come from Yondu?” Your mom asks.

Yondu begins to speak, but stops himself. He looks at you and shrugs his shoulders. You giggle knowingly and answer for him. “Yondu is a member of a race called the Centaurians. They come from the planet Centauri IV. Historically, they’re tribal people. They used to live in hundreds of tribal communities all over the planet. Think of the varying indigenous tribes we have here from North America – they used to live similarly from my understanding. But, years ago their planet was attacked by another race called the Bradoon. They invaded and destroyed many of the tribes around the planet, and the Kree had a hand in trafficking what people were left. Yondu was caught in the middle of it all when he was young, and lived most of his life in slavery. All that’s been behind him now for years. He’s an amazing captain now.”

Yondu grins at you, mumbles “Damn right”, and softly kisses your temple.

“Uhh…y/n, is there something between you two that I should know about?”

“OH! Yes, there is. I almost forgot.” Your nervous laughter bounces around the room before you continue. “Yondu and I…are dating! I know what you’re thinking: What?! How does that even happen??? Well, it’s kind of a long story. But we’re together, and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

Your mom takes a deep breath and brings her hand to her mouth as she looks down at the floor. For a few minutes there’s tension and silence that’s so thick you could cut it with a knife. As she speaks, you can hear a little shakiness in her voice. “So, you were abducted by aliens, sold to other aliens, you escaped to another planet, found a job and a place to live. Then, you joined a clan of space pirates, and now you’re dating their captain?”

“Yes.” You answer plainly.

“Okay! So, this has been a lot to think about. I am so happy you’re home honey. I’m going to get some sleep and we can revisit this in the morning. Is that okay?” She stands and brings you into a warm hug. Hugging your mom feels so familiar, and it’s a wonderful feeling. She shakes Yondu’s hand again. “You two can sleep in your room or here in the living room. Extra blankets and pillows are where they’ve always been. See you both in the morning.” You mother smiles, then disappears down the hall and into her bedroom.

You get some pillows and blankets to set up a place for the two of you to sleep, and Yondu follows you into your old bedroom. While the two of you undress down to something more comfortable, he looks over his shoulder at you. “Well, that went better than I thought it would.” You lightly nudge his shoulder as he cackles to himself. “I thought yer mom was gonna have a heart attack when you told her we was datin’.”

“You’re right about one thing. That did go a lot better than I thought it would too. I thought she was gonna freak. I’m glad she’s okay, or at least she seems like she’s okay. Let’s just try to get some sleep and see how things are in the morning, yeah?”

“Sounds good ta me. In the meantime, do ya think we can have a little fun here in yer old bed?” Yondu grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes roughly. You muffle a squeal and flip around in bed. He takes the opportunity to seize your lips in a searing kiss. You break away and whisper, “Yondu! As much fun as that sounds, I don’t need to have my mom hearing that. Let’s wait it out and see what happens first. Maybe we can if she runs an errand or something. You know I can’t stay quiet!”

“Yer right, ya can’t. That’s ‘cause I fuck my woman good.” He growls those dirty words in your ears and it causes your core to grow warm.

“Just try to get some sleep, you sexy beast.” You giggle. Yondu chuckles along with you as you both get comfortable under the blankets.

[officerjennie]

Commission for the ever so lovely @bouncyirwin - who spreads joy, happiness, and support as freely and easily as some people breathe (this fandom wouldn’t be the same without you 💜💜💜💜💜)

---

How anyone could so much as breathe without adoration hitching their efforts around her, Shisui really didn’t know.

This wasn’t even the first time this week he’d found himself staring in awe without a word able to escape him. Sakura had a way of making him dumb to the quick wit and playful flirting that usually came as natural as most any other social interaction to him - he’d always been the social butterfly of his clan, berated for it at times and having his hair fondly tousled at others. And yet here he sat, in the corner of the little restaurant Sakura and her team and her team’s families had all crowded into, unable to absorb any of the chatter or whatever joke had Kakashi snickering behind his book or even what had Naruto and the brat arguing this time.

Sakura seemed content enough to sit back and soak it all in as well, pride in the soft smile that graced her lips, a cup of tea cradled in her hand near her chest in lieu of the spirit that many of her companions had chosen to partake in this evening. And who could blame them? Rare was the day any shinobi party could come back unscathed along with their success, and given the tentative peace between Konoha and Kiri could have been destroyed at the smallest misstep their celebration came with relief felt by the entire village.

It warmed him to no end to see her so content and sure, so proud, none of the hesitance that used to haunt her expressions and tense her body anywhere to be found - the kunoichi that had chased and chased after her teammates had long since caught up and surpassed them in so many ways, and even without being privy to the intimate details of her internal battles Shisui could feel emotion trying to choke him.

Gods, but he had it bad, didn’t he? He forced some of his own tea down, looking away from the woman who had no idea she held his heart so tightly in her grip, scrubbing his face with his free hand in an attempt to clear his head. Admiration was one thing - very understandable in this case, given Sakura set the precedent for strong and capable shinobi who could punch a ravine into existence - but they could hardly even be called friends if he was honest with himself. So openly staring at her with his heart in his eyes could definitely count as creepy.

Maybe he needed more hobbies.

“Not really like you to hang out on the sidelines.”

It was a bit embarrassing to be snuck up on like that. He hoped his surprise wasn’t too obvious as he peeked through his hands, finding the woman who’d been occupying his thoughts all night now occupying the seat next to him. Up so close he could see her cheeks were dusted pink, though he couldn’t really tell if it was the chill from the night air or just some blush she’d painted on.

Either way. It didn’t really matter which one it was. All Shisui could really do with the information is filing it under “she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met” and keep the simple image of her tucking some pink hair behind her ear firmly in his mind’s eye for the rest of his days.

“Not a place I’d expect to find you either.” She blinked at his words as if confused, pursing her lips even, so despite how obvious it seemed to him Shisui clarified, “You more the frontline type, right?”

“Ah, yeah, I don’t really care for ‘supporting others’ to mean ‘being left behind.’ But today,” Sakura turned just enough to look over at her teammates, Shisui following her gaze to see Naruto gesturing wildly in horror at something that had Sasuke snickering unashamedly. “Today, I think I’m alright with not being in the middle of them. There are some conversations I’d rather they have without me.”

“What even has them going, anyway?”

“Relationships,” Sakura said, a little too quickly. But she didn’t let the awkwardness stay, her eyes flicking down to her tea which she held between her hands as if her fingers might be cold. Shisui wished he could warm them between his own. “Well, not exactly relationships. More like things people do in them. They seem to find it amusing to list all the people they’ve managed to kiss or make out with.”

With a snort, Shisui said, “I’m guessing they’re both at the top of each other’s lists then?”

He was very glad to see the tiny bit of tension relax right away from Sakura as she laughed, her eyes alight with mirth. “Somehow, they always seem to forget to mention that.”

“Bet you love to remind them.”

“Bet I do.” She flashed him a smile that had his ears heating up, and for the life of him Shisui could not say why it made him feel bold.

Despite how calm people saw him, despite his rather laid back nature, Shisui often found himself tongue tied where feelings were involved. But past his beating heart he somehow managed to not make a fool of himself, his nerves not overwhelming him - perhaps it was simply how welcomed he felt in her presence? How inviting and warm she was even as all she did was sip her tea, simply existing but existing there, next to him, when any number of seats were available next to those she was far closer to. And didn’t that make him feel lucky.

“Do you have a list?”

The gods only knew how he managed to make that sound casual. Even when Sakura’s eyes widened and blinked up at him (he swore his favorite color used to be blue but damn if that shade of green wasn’t going to change that) - and for a terrifying moment he remembered just how easily this woman could demolish any wall that stood in her way. With her fist.

Even if that wall was made with solid concrete, or was, say, a whole ass mountain. He was pretty sure he wasn’t anywhere near as solid as a mountain.

When she chose to not punch him, every single last bone in his body heaved a sigh of thankfully unbroken relief. “No, I...don’t have a list.”

No list? That was a little surprising. “A name, then?” Maybe not the best thing to ask someone, at least not before he was sure she would be comfortable with answering. Shisui was quick to add “Unless it’s a secret or something” - the last thing he needed was to drive her away by pushing into her own personal life.

Though, then again - and something in Shisui rose up in slight saddened panic at the thought - what would he do if she did have a name? A significant other? Itachi was out on another of his long missions, who exactly was he supposed to lean on and eat comfort chocolate with if it turned out his growing crush was, well...crushed, before anything could come of it?

“No. No name.”

It took physical effort to not sag with some sort of relief at her words, but it wasn’t a relief that Shisui had much time to process. Because as much as he wanted a chance with the woman of his dreams, as much as he had wanted to hear that...

“Eh? Really? You?” Shisui found it beyond the realms of possibility that Sakura, of all the people in Konoha, had yet to have her first kiss, and that shock was perhaps a bit too loud in his tone.

Definitely not good for his health and wellbeing. The nerve on Sakura’s forehead was suddenly twitching, and the sharp look she sent his way had him gulping.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, no! No no, nothing- I didn’t mean like that!” He shook his head a little more than necessary, horror dawning on him as he realized his unintentional insinuation. “I just meant- you’re just, well, beautiful! Beautiful and an exceptional shinobi, a damn good medic, and from what Sasuke’s told me in confidence you make a mean blueberry tart. Not to mention you could punch through steel if it offended you.” By some grace of the gods he managed to bit off his rambling there, scratching nervously at the back of his head, almost mumbling as he ended his poor excuse of an explanation with, “I just expected, you know… You might have kissed at least one of the people who admired you.”

The moments of quiet after his words were probably the most terrifying seconds of his life, though by some mercy Sakura did not seem angry. Maybe his apology/explanation was acceptable after all and he wouldn’t have to-

Sakura said something under her breath, and Shisui blinked back out of his thoughts, frowning a little in confusion. “What?”

“It’s just that I…” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth for a moment, drawing Shisui’s eyes. “I’ve never really had an appealing offer. You know?”

Had she always been sitting that close to him? Their thighs were touching and Shisui couldn’t remember when that had happened, but his pulse picked up, the whole of him keenly aware of every inch of her.

And how bad would it be, really, to be buried in the ground by those deceptively slender fingers?

“Would I,” Shisui started, with a smooth tone that belied how his heart beat frantically in his chest, “qualify as an appealing offer?”

A breath. Two. Sakura’s gaze flickered down to his lips as hers parted the barest bit - and even before she nodded Shisui knew her answer - though he knew not how he'd been so lucky as to get a yes.

Her hair was soft under his fingers as he cupped the back of her head, her pupils wide as she tilted her chin to look up at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that they were not alone, their friends and coworkers laughing and drinking and chattering away not even half a small restaurant away from them, but all of him preferred to focus on Sakura’s hand now coming to rest on his arm, the way she shifted forward as he leaned closer, how intimate it felt to brush their noses together, her breath tickling his lips.

And then their lips met, and the rest of the world fell away.

[nomattertheoceans]

GIF REQUEST MEME: Favorite season from The 100 - Season four

I love season four for a lot of reasons!! I think it’s the best season of the show and it should have been their last (despite my love for most of s5 ^^) I’m gonna ramble a lot but I don’t want it to take over the gifset so I’ll put it under a cut

Season four is the time of hard, impossible choices for everybody. The bomb at Farm Station, the List, the Nightblood tests, opening the bunker, the anti-radiation medicine…. Everybody is put through the ringer during this season and honestly, this is what I’m here for.

First great point for me personally: They can’t stop the radiations. When season 3 ended with the reveal of the radiations coming, I was legit disappointed with the show, I didn’t want them to spend the season “turning off” radiations miraculously, you know. So when ep 2 of the season aired and the first thing Raven said was “there’s no magic button to stop this” I WAS SO HAPPY!! It immediately got me much more hyped for the rest of the season because I was invested in “riding out 5 years of hell” much more than “let’s find a magic button”. So the season hooked me then ^^

The season is really good at re-using previous themes and twist them in just the right way

Clarke, who was so angry at the council for killing her dad, finds herself in the council’s position, and starts to understand that making such hard decisions is never easy. Making the list for instance, is so different from what she had to do before. The genocide of Mt Weather was an act of despair in the middle of a war, but making the list is a process, she has to truly chose who is “worth” more, which is what the council did when they sent the 100 to the Ground. She choses to hide the truth from everybody despite it going against what she wanted at the start of the show. It’s a really cool change for her character.

The Arkers and Grounders take the decision to test the Nightblood against Luna, the Rock Line thief, and Emori’s will. An obvious reminder of s2 but that I appreciate. I liked the Mt Weather story because of this: the mountain men were the antagonists but they also were the same as the rest of the show, they were doing whatever they had to do to survive, whatever it took, no matter how cruel it could be. We see in this season that when faced with the same decision, our protagonists reach the same result: sacrificing other people’s bodily autonomy to survive is worth it to them. It’s a really interesting theme to bring back because it muddies the waters of who’s right and wrong, and it highlights that in the end, there is no black and white answer.

This season gives us my personal favorite version of Clarke: she’s the closest she’ll get to a true antagonist (only comparable to s5 but s5 is a little bit of a mess so I still prefer her in s4). She has one conviction: saving her people. And to get it, she is ready to lie, to cheat, to kill, whatever it takes. It is interesting because I always saw Clarke in that light. She always believes that she has the right idea and she will do what it takes to get what she thinks is best. That’s where she is interesting to me (I’m not interested in her being an innocent victim forced to take decisions, that’s not how I see her at all and I find her a little dull in that interpretation haha but that’s for another post). Clarke stealing the bunker is a cruel act, but man, it’s incredibly smart. At that moment she knows she’s condeming many people (some of whom very close to her) to death, but she believes deep inside her that it’s the right thing to do so she’s willing to do it. And i really prefer her in those ruthless moments.

Octavia’s arc this season isn’t my favorite, but she is at her best during the last few episodes for me. The creation of Wonkru is one of my favorite scenes of the entire show, even though I saw it coming a mile away lmao (1200 spaces, 12 clans, it was easy to see where they were going!). I love the scene, I love the place it comes from (Octavia channeling Lincoln’s convictions was brilliant). I might not agree with her decisions (skaikru definitely deserved more spots than the other clans), but it makes perfect sense for her character to make this decision. The scene of her talking to Skaikru and telling them they’re no different from the others, and they have to choose or they all die, is also one of my favorites. Octavia received no mercy on the Ark, she had a terribly tragic childhood because of those people who are now begging her for their lives, and she doesn’t budge. The Ark, and the Ground, forced her to be that way, and she doesn’t back away. It’s also all a brilliant introduction to what Wonkru and Octavia will become in s5 (but again, that’s for another post lmao)

I love that we get the introduction of Spacekru because I love their little found family and the scene where they reach the Ring is so good!

Murphy’s speech to Clarke makes me tear up everytime I see it (it really was one of the strongest moments of acting of the entire show, Richard Harmon is amazing in it). Emori also blows me away in the previous episode, the way she’s shown to be ruthless, and cunning, and also how well she reads people. She knew they would come to test someone, and she did everything she had to for that someone to not be her. I love her ^^

I like the plot of the second dawn bunker well enough! (although I will never change my mind that Cadogan was a dumbass for putting it where it is instead of IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST WHERE THERE’S NO RISK OF BUILDINGS FALLING ON IT LIKE WHAT LITERALLY HAPPENED IN S5 OKAY anyway…..), it’s far from perfect but I like that it explains the people coming to greet Becca in s3, and I like that we expand a little on the origins of the Grounders culture (even though I wanted more about this). It’s kind of an “easy” solution, but at the same time it’s not. It was established early in the season before being abandoned, and even once it’s found, it’s not at all a perfect and easy solution. They have to fight for it, decide who lives there, it’s a pretty interesting development. What I mean is that it’s not discovered one episode before the end and it doesn’t solve everything. If anything, it creates more conflict. Which I appreciate alot.

ALSO ALSO Echo is a badass general in this season and I love it. She goes from being a spy in earlier seasons, to full-on commanding armies and being a strategic mastermind and I love it! She’s also ruthless and cunning and I lvoe that for her. It’s also such a good season for her and Bellamy!!! I lvoe all of it ^^

This season also has one of my favorite underrated quotes!!!! I’m gonna use a gif here cause I’m not at the limit yet lmao

“It’s unity day.” GODDDD it’s so good. It’s simple, but it conveys so much information and I love it:

Unity Day: the stations coming together to survive -> we’re virtually in the same situation here.

It’s a happy occasion, a day of survival and hope, just like the hope Octavia gave all the clans with her decisions

But it’s also a day of death and loss. She’s giving Kane a choice: join Wonkru with 100 members, or die in the flames.

It reminds us of the history of the Arkers, and I love when world-building does this thing where both characters are shown to have such a close cultural background that three little words are enough to convey such a strong message. It’s a detail but I love it and I wanted to ramble for a little bit ^^

Clarke’s sacrifice: This is when it gets to “meh” points for the seasons for me. Clarke deciding to stay behind to save Spacekru was a good moment. Yes, I know that if she hadn’t climbed the tower they all would have died anyway, but still. It’s a great moment for her character. She has hurt those people time and time again during this season, she was ready to let them die more than once, and I think she regrets it (although again, I like to see the extremes she’s willing to reach in this season). In that moment, she doesn’t decide that it’s too late to survive so she might as well give up. She knows she’s going to die, and she gives her last moments to save the lives of the people she hurt in the past. And I really love this. That is….. Until Clarke is revealed to not have died. I truly believe that she had reached the ending of her arc in the show, and it would have been a great ending to her character. But that’s also because I believe the show should have ended in s4 lmao. If it had ended, then maybe they could have left her death ambiguois, by showing her reaching the safety of the lab, but not showing her again afterwards. That way, we had no way of being sure she survived, but it was left ambiguous enough to make us decide her fate outselves.

The perfect ending: I didn’t choose the last gif randomly. That scene of Raven and Bellamy looking down on the Earth was in my opinion the perfect shot to end the show. At that point in time, we are left in a place that is very similar to where the show started: the Earth is destroyed by radiations, some people are waiting it out in space, some people are waiting it out on the ground. it mirrors the premise of the show (although in a much smaller scale), but this time, we’re left with hope of what might come in the future. Those two groups know (or hope) that they will reunite, especially with Octavia and Bellamy, the relationship at the core of the show, being separated. If the show ends here, we have come full circle from the pilot episode, and we can imagine how those two groups will reunite in the future. I find that ending the best possible for the show, so even though there’s so much I like about season 5, I wish the show had stopped at that moment, at that shot of Raven and Bellamy looking down on the Earth.

That got reaaaaally long, so…. sorry about that xD If you’ve reached this far, feel free to tell me what you think of this season (or the others haha) or send me asks, or request for other gifsets!!!

[mandalorianbrainweasel]

Older Boba/That One Cadet?? I like that very much!! How about a first kiss? :3c

Thank you for prompting this because it made me look up his name. Jax! His name is Jax. I love him. I'm sorry for what I put him through in this.

They're like fifteen and this didn't go how I expected, they took over. As you'll see by the word count.

a taste of wasting time

T. Boba/Jax. 1580 words. Inspired by every summer camp I've been to, but the kids have actually been taught weapon etiquette which unfortunately includes the Bullying. Dumb teenagers, mean kids, Boba's potty mouth, survival training but fun, mushrooms, first kiss.

Boba likes the nights on Concord Dawn.

Staying back on Mandalore, in Sundari, is fine. That’s where most of his family is. Para and their riduure, Paz, Kix and Fox, Sati’bu, Ba’tat Arla, the Babas.

He loves his family and he doesn’t really feel a desire to be spending all his time in the Slave I for another couple years straight and he doesn’t really ever feel like spending more than a couple weeks up here with the Mereel side of the family.

And he’s not even here with them, right now. Out of all of the family members he’s stuck with right now, it’s Omega. Sure, a few of the counsellors for the training camp are clones, and more than a few of the other verd’ike are clones, but that doesn’t mean a lot. Most of the other clones that Boba even knew before Para’s quest were Alpha class or Commandos. A few others he’d seen, yeah, but no one is really family-family instead of clan-family.

He’s in a squad with two other clones and three kids from other clans. Omega is off with her squad, well away from Boba, and it’s funny how a training camp that they were both at is the only time in the last two years that he’s gotten space from his sister.

He pokes at the fire in front of him, mostly occupied with staring at the sky while his squadmates are off setting up camp. He got teased for being the spoiled one and how this was probably all he could do.

Omega would probably have tried to take their faces off with her teeth.

He’ll show them, later. This is their first night in the wilds and he’s a damn good shot and Be’baba has been running him through training almost every day since Ursa Wren dragged him to Mandalore. And that didn’t stop after he got his first beskar, like he knows some of the other clans do, leaving training to the Academy clubs and these training camps.

He doesn’t know about what the other clones will have been used to since leaving Kamino, but he knows he’s been shooting and camping long before they ever got to.

“Oh, hey, you got the fire going,” one of the other clones in his squad says, dropping down beside him. It’s the one with the red tint to his hair—Jax—instead of the one who has her dark hair buzzed low—Vril, he thinks.

“What, think I couldn’t even manage this?” he asks, glancing at him derisively.

Jax shifts uncomfortably.

“You didn’t,” he realizes, furious.

“You like in a palace,” Jax points out.

“And you either live in a really nice apartment or on a clan compound,” he points out. “I learned how to start a survival fire when I was four. And I learned how to cook on a fire a couple years later when Buir decided I wasn’t going to fall into a soup pot.”

Jax snorts and covers his mouth before he breaks into giggles.

“Seriously, my squad last year wasn’t nearly as” mean “shitty.”

Jax at least ducks his head, ashamed.

“You do realize I live with my ori’vod, right? The Mand’alor? Do you really think they’d leave me defenceless and unable to take care of myself? We may be a family, but shit happens to everyone.”

“Hey,” Vril shouts, “Stop yelling at Jax.”

Boba and Jax both swivel their heads to her and Boba.

Well, Omega is preferable right now. Even if she might insight a feud over this. And she’s still a last ditch place to go. This area of Concord Dawn is pretty safe for someone wandering on their own.

He tosses the stick into the fire and heads out into the trees, strolling until he’s far enough they won’t hear him break into a run, angry tears prickling at his eyes. He wants the Lieutenants, and Para and Mij and Fordo and Ven’ti, and the Babas. He wants people who don’t want to see the worst in him. He remembers Korkie talking about this kind of thing, when Boba first started going to the Academy. Hell, he remembers stuff like this himself from his first months there.

He makes himself another fire when he comes to another clearing and has made sure none of the animal tracks around it are the kind of things that would bother him or be bothered by him. No tent, but he’s slept without a tent or a sleeping bag plenty of times.

Maybe an hour has passed when he hears more human-like footsteps, and he unholsters the blaster he brought—not one of Buir’s blasters, not for a few more years—and fires a warning shot.

The bolt of plasma sends a tree branch cracking down, and a clone yelps.

He doubts it’s Vril.

He sighs and reholsters the blaster. “I’m this way,” he calls, making another skewer of friendly-familiar mushrooms he’d found around here and setting it at the edge of the fire while he grabbed his own from where it had been roasting.

Jax steps through, rubbing his head. There’s a little scratch on his cheek that looks like it might bruise. “Hey. You...really got far out here. I don’t think I’d have gone this far.”

He shrugs. “I’ve always had to be kind of alone.” He peeks a mushroom off of the top of the skewer and pops it in his mouth.

Jax stares.

“There’s more,” he points out, motioning to the pile he’s made and the roasting skewer. “Wait for it to get brown, though.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.”

Again, Jax sits next to him.

“Sorry about, uh. All of that. I set her to rights about what we’d been talking about. The others, you know, they didn’t believe you?” Jax laughs hollowly. “They told me to come get you back because they’d get in trouble if you died out here, and Vril was too stubborn to come apologize.”

“I’m not going back until in the morning, then,” Boba decides, smiling as he eats another mushroom. “Let them sweat. I have my comm and I was going to ping our counsellor soon. Probably my ori’vod, too. Need to tell some member of the family, but if I tell my sister she’s liable to commit homicide. If not get her squad to join her.”

Jax laughs and finally it sounds like something that he’s letting himself be fully amused by.

Boba averts his eyes and goes back to munching, but he picks the skewer he set for Jax up as soon as it’s hitting the perfect shade and passes it to him.

Eventually, Jax eggs him into an actual conversation, and they chat about education modules—though Boba doesn’t mention his are for university classes. They give a report to the counsellor who agrees with Boba’s decision to let them get anxious with a kind of vicious smile that makes Boba wonder what happened last year. When the counsellor commends Jax for avoiding getting drawn in by bad influences, he really wonders.

But he doesn’t ask, not when Jax looks so beat up about it.

The next morning, after a night where they’d doze until an alarm warned them to check the fire, then doze some more again, they head back to their squad’s initial camp, after bagging up the rest of the mushrooms that they don’t eat for firstmeal.

When they get to the camp, they watch from the woods as the counsellors are scolding the rest of the squad about losing two members and how they’re going to have to send out a search party! Now why would those two have run off, hmm? Did this have anything in common with last year, hmm?

Jax finally has enough and Boba shrugs and starts whistling as they head into camp, the bag of mushrooms over his shoulder.

“Hey, Ordo, I got some of those mushrooms you like,” he tells the counsellor who had been in charge of his squad last year.

She grins, pushing the other young teens out of the way and going for them. “I don’t get how you always find these, Fett’ika! Seriously. I should never have told you they were my favorite, now you have bribery available.”

He sticks his tongue out at her.

“Anyways,” she adds, “We’re adding you two to Squad Beta. It’ll be fine.”

Boba raises an eyebrow. That squad is one from the above year. “If you say so.”

“Saxon’s in charge of them,” Ordo adds with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, yes, then it will be fine,” he agrees.

Jax looks between the two of them. “Really?”

“Yeah, Aden’tra likes me best,” Boba says.

The rest of the camp goes fine, though Boba doesn’t find out what happened to the rest of his first squad of the year. They’re all packing up to leave when Jax takes him aside, then knocks him back into a tree and kisses him.

“I, uh, sorry. I hadn’t really said that. About the first night,” Jax says, looking down as Boba stares, shocked at him. “I, uh. Really like you. I’m sorry, if that was, uh!”

Boba kisses him this time, then grabs his comm and types in his code. “That’s me. You can ping me whenever.”

“Boba!” Aden’tra hollers. “Come on, Korkie promised to make the fritters if we get back before nightfall!”

He snorts. “I gotta go. Send me a message, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jax says, “Okay.”

[mytardisisparked]

Heyyyyy what's the chace you'd be willing to write a DinxOmera fic where Omega adjusts to technically being a ruler of Mandalore after marrying Din? You can do whatever you want I just think I would be cute 👉👈

ANON this is a cute idea!!!! I love it!

This turned out a heck of a lot longer than I planned but I wanted to connect some dots. 

----------

And Everything Was New

----------

The forest path drew her gaze far more than it should have. It was like a magnet; she couldn’t walk past the damned thing without looking down it. Omera knew what her subconscious was looking for: that little flash of silver that had been the last she had seen of the Mandalorian.

It was silly, really, because she knew that he wasn’t coming back. He needed to keep his son safe and, she knew, he needed to leave to keep the village safe too. She rationalized his choice in her head every time her eyes wandered towards the road and her heart lept when something shiny caught her eye. And yet...

Her eyes wandered back towards the road as she stooped by the pool, heart heavy. With a sigh, she dragged her unwilling gaze back towards her work.

She immediately looked back up, however, as she realized someone was coming down the road.

After months of trying to train herself to think that Mando would never return, she struggled to believe her eyes as the beskar-clad man stepped out of the shadows, helmet-ed head scanning the clearing. Despite the fact that his face was covered, Omera felt the moment their eyes locked. 

She stood as he walked over to her, occasionally nodding at others who greeted him. Within a few moments, they were standing toe to toe, exactly as they had been when they last spoke.

“Omera.” His voice was rough, but his tone was gentle, even coming through the modulator of his helmet. 

“Mando.” She smiled. “You came back.”

“I did.” Tentatively, he reached out a hand to take hers. “Do you mind if we speak alone?”

She nodded and lead him to her tent, keeping his hand in hers the whole way.

Once they were safely inside, she turned back to him. he adjusted his grip on her hand and, with a pang of amusement and confusion, Omera realized that the Mandalorian seemed.... nervous.

“You-” he cleared his throat, “you offered to let me stay, back when I was here with my son.” His head tilted up and, once again, Omera could feel him looking into her eyes. 

“I did.” She smiled. “The offer still stands.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “Omera, I- my son is gone. He’s training to be a Jedi.”

She realized the question that was hiding behind that sentence. “My offer still stands.” She lifted a hand to his helmet, not to take it off, just to hold him. “You have a place here, with me, if you want it.”

Mando lifted his hand to hers, and she started to pull away in embarrassment, feeling as if she had crossed a line again. To her surprise, however, he placed his hand over hers and pulled his helmet up.

She found herself looking at the kindest face she had ever seen.

She had often found herself picturing what Mando looked like under his helmet, though it felt wrong to do so. She had never quite landed on a specific mental image, but the vague inklings she had had didn’t do justice to reality; his eyes were a warm, deep brown that matched his dark hair and the scruff around his mouth and chin. As hard as his armor was, the man beneath was softer and more welcoming than anyone else she had ever met.

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.” His eyes flashed nervously, unsure of what to do without the cover of his helmet. 

She moved slowly, leaving the helmet in his hand to reach up and gently cup his cheek. He tensed for a moment at the contact, before leaning into her hand. 

“Welcome home, Din.”

------

It took little time at all for Din to adjust to life in the village. He still wore his helmet outside of their home, but he integrated into the daily work routine with no problem at all. Winta, of course, took to him like a bantha to water in the desert, shirking her chores to pester him with questions and tell him outlandish stories. Omera tried to warn Winta not to overwhelm him, but Din just patiently asked Winta to tell him another story, sending Omera small smile to tell her it was alright.

A year after he moved to the village, Din and Omera were married. 

They had tried to have a quiet ceremony, but the entire village decided to throw a massive party for their favorite couple, complete with dancing and food, and several winks and nudges from the village matriarchs regarding the hopes of future “additions to the village.” The only moment of the whole ordeal that wasn’t filled with cheers was the moment Din removed his helmet to kiss his new wife. 

Of course, as soon as their lips touched and the onlookers had recovered from the shock of seeing the face of their hero, they cheered louder than ever, and there wasn’t a moment of silence till dawn the next morning.

As the newlyweds watched the sunrise, hand in hand, Omera felt Din sigh. She looked up to see his brow drawn.

“Din?”

He looked down at her, face relaxing. “Hey.” He reached a hand up to touch her cheek.

She raised a brow. “What’s on your mind?”

His hand fell away and he looked back out at the sun. “I just... I feel like this, this peace, is about to end.”

Omera’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” She rested a hand on his chest and he laid his over it.

“I think-” he sighed again, “I think something’s coming.”

“Well,” Omera reached up and turned his pensive face towards hers, “I suppose we ought to enjoy the time we have, then.”

He smiled and leaned down, capturing her lips in his own. “I suppose we should.”

------

It was another few months before their peace was finally disturbed.

“Din!” One of the fishermen called into their tent one afternoon as they were repairing their krill baskets. “Someone’s here to see you! Says you have something of hers.”

Din looked at Omera from across their lunch table. “Bo Katan.”

His wife’s eyes flashed to his trunk at the end of their bed. “She wants the sword?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “She wants me to fight her for it.” Without another word, He stood, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and stepped out to reluctantly meet his fate.

“Din Djarin.” 

Din nodded at the three Mandalorians in front of him. “Bo.”

The redhead looked a bit older than the last time they had met, white streaking through the hair at her temples. Her companions looked much the same, Koska practically chomping at the bit to fight as he would expect. 

“I’ve come for the darksaber,” Bo Katan said, tilting her head. “And I will only take it in battle.”

“I don’t want to fight you. You can just take it.”

Bo’s eyes narrowed, wandering around the clearing. “You’ve settled here?”

“Yes,” he paused awkwardly before adding, “it’s a quiet life.”

The woman’s eyes slid back to his. “You are an insufferably good person.”

Din shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I could stage a fight, if you like.”

Bo Katan sighed. “No, I would need to win with honor. Even if I attacked you now, I would know that you were losing on purpose.” She gritted her teeth. “I can’t take the saber from you.”

“Then why are you here?” A subtle note of irritation hung between them. 

“Because if I can’t beat you, I suppose I’ll just have to back you.”

His mouth fell open slightly. “I’m sorry?”

She raised her brows. “Well, you won the darksaber from Moff Gideon, so you’re the rightful ruler of Mandalore. I will support your claim.”

Omera moved to Din’s side, taking his hand in hers to give it a squeeze. “I don’t want to make a claim,” he said, squeezing her hand back.

Bo Katan lowered her head a bit. “We’ve taken back Mandalore but-” she stopped, exchanging a look with Koska, “our people need a leader, Din. They won’t take me back since I have failed them twice.” She chuckled bitterly. “I suspect that, even if I were to win the darksaber in combat, they wouldn’t accept me.” She looked back into his eyes. “Maybe it’s time to let someone else take the throne anyway; a fresh perspective may be exactly what Mandalore needs and, I won’t lie, you are a fair leader.”

Din was stunned. “I know nothing about ruling.”

“I think you know more than you realize. You have a way of bringing people together and making allies. You lead missions with confidence. The rest is just politics and business, which I can help you sort out.” 

“I-” Din took a step back towards their tent. “I need to think.”

Bo Katan nodded and turned back to her own companions as Din pulled Omera inside.

“Omera-”

She quieted him with a gentle kiss. “I had a feeling this was coming.”

His eyes flashed up to hers. “What do you mean?”

She traced a finger down the curve of his cheek. “The scenario with the saber has been on my mind for a long time. This was an outcome that I could see happening.” She smiled. “Bo Katan is right, you are a natural leader.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t think that qualifies me to lead an entire planet.”

“Maybe not, but I think you could learn very quickly.”

“Are you actually suggesting I take this position?”

Her face grew more serious. “These are your people, Din, and they need you. I won’t tell you what to do, but just know that Winta and I will stand with you whatever you decide.”

He took her face in his hands. “I can’t uproot your life. I can’t ask you to leave.”

“You are my life. And, besides,” her eyes fell to the broken basket on the table, “maybe a change of pace would be good. Complacency isn’t healthy.”

-----

Life in the palace was... different.

Although Din was completely unaware of the politics of the region and how to create trade routes, Bo Katan kept her word and helped him slowly learn the ropes. It took the people of the system some time to adjust to the idea of a no-name on the throne, but, as Bo and Omera said, his natural leadership and ability to create unlikely allies gained him acceptance. Mandalore seemed to appreciate a ruler who took physical action to solve problems and negotiated quickly between the tense clans.

Omera gained acceptance of her own as well. She took to teaching the children of the palace guards during her school sessions with Winta, which the people respected immensely; in a world where family and adoption were key, Omera fit right in.

Omera did not, however, enjoy the subtleties of palace politics.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t able to handle difficult situations with grace, it was just that the feelings of all eyes watching her during political balls and banquets made her squirm. Every fork movement, every smile, every word, was a point of judgment and she disliked it immensely. Frankly, so did Din, but he had the benefit of his helmet during the majority of public events; Omera could not hide.

Besides the discomfort of politics, however, their family still seemed to thrive. Din remained quietly strong and incredibly devoted to Omera and Winta, their bonds growing stronger as time went on. Being in a new place meant that the three of them relied heavily on each other for strength. Omera enjoyed working with the palace staff and visiting the diverse Sundari markets outside the palace doors. Winta charmed all of the visiting dignitaries and clan leaders with her quick wits and clever turns of phrase. The future of Mandalore was never certain, especially in a society of fierce warriors, but people generally liked the prospect of Winta taking the throne after her father one day. Din liked the idea too, and he was tempted to hand the throne to her now since she seemed to take anything life handed her in stride better than he did. 

He was even more tempted to abdicate after he and Omera found out they were expecting.

“You can’t leave the throne now,” Omera chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he kneeled to speak to her abdomen and tell their baby all his woes, “Winta needs to finish school first and the balance of things is too precarious.”

Din sighed good-naturedly. “I know, but that doesn’t mean a man can’t dream.”

She pulled him back up to her level, cupping his face in her hands. “Of course. A woman can dream too.”

He pulled her into his arms, resting their foreheads together. “We need to tell everyone at some point. Cara will kill me if we make it too much further into this pregnancy without telling her she’s going to be an aunt.”

Omera chuckled. “Maybe we should start with Winta, let her know she’s going to be a big sister.”

Din’s face remained soft, but lost it’s spark of humor. “She already was a big sister, in my eyes.”

“He’ll come back.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Someday, he’ll come back.”

“I just-” Din sighed, looking away. “I miss the little womprat.”

“Me too.” Omera looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe we could see if he could visit after the baby is born?”

He looked back into her eyes. “I think he’d like that.”

-----

He was right about Cara: she was FURIOUS they didn’t tell her about the baby sooner.

“I’m coming to Mandalore right now to kick your ass.” She spoke with a bit of humor in her voice, even as the holo image of Cara was clearly moving around her room to pack a bag. 

“You can’t come here now, you’re still Marshall.” Din sighed.

“I have like 7 weeks of vacation time built up. I’m coming.”

Before Din could protest again, Omera leaned in. “We would love to have you, Cara. Maybe you can help Winta with her combat classes since I’m becoming less able to assist.” She gestured down at the small but still visible bump at her waist. 

Cara grinned. “How is Winta? What does she think of all of this?”

“She’s very excited for the baby, but-” Din and Omera shared a look. “I think she’s starting to become overwhelmed by change.”

It was understandable, really; the clans had gotten more tense after Din had passed a law preventing infighting on Sundari. The unfortunate result had been multiple clan leaders attempting to convince Winta to talk to her father about repealing the law. That, combined with the sudden knowledge that their family was growing and Winta’s transition into the next level at Sundari Academy, had made the girl quieter than usual.

“That’s understandable.” Cara smiled simpathetically. “Maybe she just needs a friend.”

As it would turn out, a friend was exactly what Winta needed. A Mandalorian boy by the name of Rashel filled that position quite well. 

Rashel Kryze was the son of some old member of Bo Katan’s clan that had left Mandalore following the seige at the end of the Clone Wars and had returned to send his son to the royal academy. Din and Omera had never met the man, but Rashel was a lovely, spirited boy and they enjoyed having him around. His unwavering positivity and curiosity seemed to lift Winta up and restore her former attitude. Her parents suspected that having someone her own age to talk to about her troubles was also a huge relief. 

Once Cara arrived, Winta and Rashel hung around her every available hour outside of sleeping and schoolwork, leaving Din and Omera the chance to spend time together as they prepared for the arrival of the baby.

The respite for the couple, however, was temporary.

“Well, the people know now.” Omera’s mouth drew into a thin line as the holopaper flickered above the table, the title of the front-page article reading: “NEW RULERS OF MANDALORE PRODUCE SECONDARY HEIR - DJARIN LINE EVEN MORE SECURE”

Din frowned scrolling quickly thrugh the article, which made his stomach churn as his quiet family was portrayed as a dynasty. “How did they find out? Do we have a leak in our staff?”

His wife smiled sadly, “No, look at the picture on page three.”

Din glanced up at her before locating the image.

“Oh.” He said, studying the picture of he and Omera standing on their private balcony, Din kneeling before her and gently pressing his hands to the small bump at her abdomen. “Paparazzi.”

“I should have known better than to stand on the balcony without a robe or looser clothing.” Omera shook her head. “I was hoping we would have more time to keep this to ourselves.”

Din set the holo down and took her hands in his. “No, Omera, this isn’t your fault. people shouldn’t tresspass on our privacy like that.” He squeezed her hands and rested his forehead against hers. “I wish we had more time too, and I’m sorry this is all out in the open for scrutiny now.”

She pulled one of her hands from his and rested it on his cheek. “I know, but I suppose we would have had to tell them at some point any way. Maybe this is better.” She grinned. “We both know how you feel about speeches regarding personal matters.”

Her husband winced as he thought back to the speech he gave introducing his family at the beginning of their rule. “Yeah, I would like to avoid repeating that.”

Omera chuckled and hugged him tightly. “For your sake, dear, so would I.”

-----

Having the news of her pregnancy out to the public was harder than Omera had ever expected. 

Suddenly, the scrutiny she had dreaded only at public affairs of state was leaking deeply into her personal life; every food she ate, every store she visited, every dress she wore was critiqued by news stations all over the planet. She did her best to ignore the chatter, to block out the whispers in the marketplace and the palace staff’s quarters, but still, some phrases broke through her defense and hit where it hurt the most.

“She’s really going to eat that much seafood? In her 5th month?”

“I can’t believe her dress is so loose, isn’t she worried about getting it caught and hurting the baby?”

“I can’t believe her dress is so tight, isn’t she worried about it constricting and hurting the baby?”

“You would think she’d know better since she’s done this once before.”

“I’ve seen her walk into the pharmacy before. Didn’t leave with a single box of prenatal vitamins.”

“Do you think she knows about the benefits of yoga? I would think every mother should know that.”

“Why haven’t they gotten the baby tested for any disorders yet? How can they be sure it’s healthy?”

“Doesn’t she care about the future of Mandalore?

Omera was strong, but that last whisper, heard in her favorite flower shop, a place that had alway felt like a safe haven, broke her resolve.

She whirled around to the woman who had spoken under her breath. “You would do well to watch your volume, ma’am. My hearing is better than you think.” She picked up the bouquet she had ordered for Winta and whirled back to the wide-eyed woman. “And, for your information, I gave up everything to come to this place. I left my quiet, peaceful life behind to sort out your wars and petty infighting.” She leaned closer, voice deadly quiet. “I care.” 

She pushed past the shocked woman and the rest of the people behind her in line at the shop and stormed home, barely noticing the way people moved to give her space on the sidewalk upon seeing her terrifying visage. Omera threw the bouquet down on the table, walked straight to Din’s office, and finally let her tears fall as he crossed the room to pull her into his arms.

“Omera, what’s wrong?” He let her bury her face in his chest and ran a comforting hand over her back.

“I’m tired of listening to them criticize me, Din,” she sobbed. “Everyone is watching my every move and I feel like I’m doing this all wrong!”

Din guided her gently over to a couch and helped her sit. “What do you feel like you are doing wrong?” He spoke quietly, running a thumb under her eyes to wipe away tears. 

“Everything,” she said shakily. “Absolutely everything. I can’t figure out how to play at the palace politics, I can’t raise Winta right, I’m not properly preparing for this baby.” She rested a hand on the sizable bump at her waist as fresh tears filled her eyes. “I can usually adjust to whatever life throws at me, so why is this so hard.”

Her husband gently pulled her face up so they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Because we aren’t just living life in the village anymore and sorting through this on our own, we have a whole system of people watching us. I feel the pressure too, but I’m sure not as much as you are and I am so sorry.” Tears gathered in his eyes. “I’m sorry I took you away from your life and friends back home. You deserve so much better.”

Omera’s heart panged. She reached up to cup his cheek, mirroring his own touch. “I chose this life, my love. You did not rip me away from anything, and it is not your fault that I am feeling the way I am. You have been nothing but gentle and patient through all of this.”

They sat is silence for a moment, just enjoying the comfort of proximity.

“Maybe we should visit home for a while,” Din said softly. “We could have the baby there and then come back when we are ready.”

Omera looked up. “Would the people think we are hiding a secret? Would they hate us for not sharing our joy with them?”

He smiled gently. “Maybe a little bit, but we are the Mand’alors. We rule this planet, why should they get to tell us what we can and can’t do in our private family life?”

She smiled back. “Alright. Let’s go home, then.”

-----

Being back in the village was bliss.

The friends they had from before they moved to Sundari were overjoyed at the prospect of Din and Omera’s coming child and Winta’s friends were incredibly pleased to see her again. Although she still called Rashel nearly every night, Winta fell right back in with her old group of friends as if nothing had ever changed, leaving her partens to smile at the unshakable adapatability of their daughter.

Cara came with them, of course, to help increse the security of the village and protect the royal family from those who would wish to take Mandalore for themselves. There were, indeed, a couple assasins that attempted to get into the village, but not even remotely succeeded.

The highlight of their stay, of course, was the birth of their second daughter, Hirah.

After nearly 25 hours of labor, the girl had entered the world with a single cry that could have been one of victory. Her parents laughed in relief, even as tears flowed down their cheeks. She was small, but not concerningly so, and already had a head of thick, dark hair. 

The minute Omera saw her, she realized that the discomfort of critiscism had been worth it and she would go through the past nine months 20 times over if the result was still the little girl Din now hugged close to his chest. 

Din shifted the baby gently, his movemnts so controlled and slight, as if he were afraid.

“You won’t break her,” his wife chuckled.

He looked up at her and smiled. “This is just... very different from a 50 year-old baby who can walk.” 

They both laughed at that. “I know,” Omera leaned into him and gently placed a hand on Hirah’s head, “but I think you’ll find that she’s tougher than you’d expect.”

“I suppose she should be, considering her mother.” 

Omera looked up to find Din gazing down at her softly. She tilted her head upward, inviting him in for a soft kiss, which he provided obligingly. When they broke apart, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his daughter’s head and then leaned back into Omera with a contented sigh.

“We should probably introduce her to her sister and other adoring fans soon.” Omera shifted to get up, but Din pulled her back in close.

“Eventually, but I don’t think anyone will begrudge us for keeping her to ourselves for a bit longer.”

She laughed. “Clearly you are underestimating Winta and Cara’s sense of familial entitlement.”

He chuckled but shook his head. “They can wait.” He was quiet for a moment. “Mandalore can wait too, if you want. We can stay here as long as you like. Ruling remotely hasn’t been too much of a hassel these past few months.”

Omera placed a hand on his chest. “No, I think we should head back as soon as I’ve recovered enough to travel. Our people deserve to meet their newest member.”

Din titled his head, brow furrowing a bit. “What about all the scrutiny from the people? Are you sure you want to face all of that so soon? I can make it work to stay here a while longer while we adjust to raising a baby.”

Omera looked back into the face of their daughter and thought of their family. She thought of how Din had gotten the people to accept him in his quiet (and sometimes deadly) strength. She thought of how Winta had managed to charm the nobility with her wit despite her inclination to be a bit unruly. She thought about how she had earned some respect by helping teach the palace staff’s children.

“No,” Omera smiled, “I think it would be good for us to return and be amongst our people.” She looked back up at Din’s curious face. “I am confident in my ability to care for Hirah and Winta and any other children that may come in the way that is best for them. I am confident in your ability to be a good father and a good ruler. I am confident in my ability to rule by your side.” Din smiled softly as she eaned forward to place her forehead against his. “I’m the consort of the Mand’alor, and I have this handled.”

[lesbiten]

I can't seem to read ANYTHING fiction rn that isn't DW, DW adjacent, or scifi that's been on my to read list forever BUT. Hypothetically if I am ever capable of reading anything else ever again, what's the best reading order for WC for people who were too busy rereading Percy Jackson for the 87th time to read it before. Most skippable books? Least skippable books? Will cat Ianto be enough to convince my brain that WC is DW adjacent?

first of all. yes cat ianto DOES mean wc is dw adjacent and i will die on this hill <3

anyways i would definitely start with the prophecies begin arc aka start with into the wild. i feel like all 6 books in that arc are super important for world building and understanding how clans work etc etc. the authors still didnt really know what they were going for when they wrote this arc and it makes it? better? in a weird way? also it has two of the coolest and funkiest villains in the entire series (being scourge and brokenstar)

(anything below this point is just me rambling LMFAO sorry i didnt realize how much i typed)

the second arc (the new prophecy) is kind of boring and sucks and like. yes it has very important and permanent plot stuff in it but the only book thats rly good that i remember is sunset...

the third arc (power of three) fucks ummm like every book is good i think. characters are cool the story is fun and it makes me want to eat concrete like every good book series should

the fourth arc (omen of the stars) every book is good except sign of the moon which made me stop my reread originally because its literally so fucking boring

the fifth arc (a vision of shadows) is ok..........the villains kinda make it worth it but kind of not ? shattered sky is really really good but the rest of it is kind of forgettable.....

the sixth arc (the broken code) is ongoing. however so far it is definitely my second favorite arc and its fucking insane!!!!!! really good writing compared to some of the other books imo!!!!!!!

the dawn of the clans arc is the Best and most well written arc imo!!!!!! i definitely wouldnt start with it but its kind of like a prequel for the whole series. like shows where all the clans came from etc etc and thats where clear sky is from!!! unfortunately the least likeable character is in fact the main protagonist (hes kind of just ...... boring and annoying hsdfbdshfsbd) but i think the plot and rest of the characters make up for it!!!

the super editions are very hit or miss. same w/ the novellas. here r my recommendations

good super editions: bluestar's prophecy, crookedstar's promise, tallstar's revenge, HAWKWING'S JOURNEY (this one explains a lot of whats going on in the fifth arc and imo is like.....way more fun to read than that whole arc HGDBGH),

okay super editions: firestar's quest, yellowfang's secret, moth flight's vision, tigerheart's shadow, crowfeather's trial, graystripe's vow

PLEASE GOD SKIP THESE: bramblestar's storm, skyclan's destiny

the novellas r a bit harder to assess bc some of them i really havent read since i was 11 but like. uh. tbh id say all of them are worth a shot EXCEPT for spottedleaf's heart. fuck that book and fuck everything that happens in it and fuck the authors for writing it <3. other than that i either think theyre pretty good or i just dont remember the events that take place HDBHFDBSFHSD

theres other stuff like the graphic novels and fields guides but i have already said. so much

[tarasylnin-lavellan]

Justice's Flight

okay so here is the third episode in the justice arc featuring the half qunari half elf Harel from @w-h-4-t much love lethalan

Taras feet thudded as she ran, heart dead in her chest. You knew better her mind called, you knew how this would end. Foolish child you knew, she gritted her teeth against the painful thoughts. She used everything in the Vir Tanadhal. She ran along stones, swung from branches to break up her track, and forded every stream. She had to ensure that no one could find her, not ever.

Harel and Cole found the track of the Great stag easily enough and took off after Tara. Soon enough they found the site of the "ambush" and stopped. Cole breathed "scattering scared flighty yet flightless fleeing, falling." Harel looked over at the slight young man "mmm that sounds like.... well Tara's very stony. Scared? Ok maybe that is her." Coles eyes widened "mamae I am sorry mamae I....void blackened hate, glass scraping, I don't want to be the beast again, obsidian shards-" Harel cut him off promptly grabbing the boy "hey breathe, boots on the ground, air in your lungs we're trying to find her, breathe you're okay you're here. Cole looked up with his watery eyes at harel "she hurts so much, sharp glass tearing, she is drowning in the dark." His eyes filled with tears at the soul wrenching agony he could feel. Harel stared at the staged site "shems might fall for this one, but in the clan we called it Falon'din's faint. Stage an attack so the pursuer looses interest in your trail. Harel turned and saw the tears on Cole's face "hey, we're going to find, we will light the darkness okay? we wont let her drown. I wont let you drown either, we are going to be okay.

"Clawing creeping darkness....there" he pointed a trembling hand to the southwest. There was nothing to show her passage but Harel had expected that. Any clanfam worth a damn would know how to evade capture. "She really doesn't want to be found" Cole whispered, Harel nodded studying the area. "really does.... I mean I'm pretty good at tracking from when the clan would leave me behind but.... she really wiped herself off the map." "Swiftly spinning, thunder rumbles in the clouds even when it wants to be a flame." Cole stood wanting to help needing to help, Harel muttered pacing the clearing. "Where is she, were would she go," Cole stared at the sky "Move like brother, think like father, faster, go faster safety in seeking danger." Harel stopped at the words "do....wait....do you think you can follow the feeling? trail off the fear like you do?" "find the hurt?" Harel nodded "uh...yes... like feel out the pain like you do and keep following it till we find her?" Cole looked to the southwest "I can try....but it might make me disappear she is hurting so much..." Harel looked that way too "so long as one of us finds her, she gave up everything for that fucking bastard." Harel's eyes glowed a faint green at her words. "But we are not going to let her go, are we Cole?" Cole's eyes grew haunted "bright in the darkness wearing its skin loosely-" "FOCUS! Follow! we wont let anything happen to her, not again never again. You said she was going that way?" Cole nodded. "Then that is where we will go," a soft trumpeting noise cut her off. The inquisitors white hart trotted into the clearing shaking his head in grief huffing. "Oh you poor sweet thing, Tara left you all alone" she patted the beasts snout "its okay we are here now." Cole looked at the massive white stag "he... he saw her flee, saw her go there beyond the trees past there fleeing with the sun." Harel's eyes opened wide in sudden panic "she, she is heading for the arbor wilds SHITE its gunna get her killed DEAD." Harel felt the fear seizing her heart, "OH MYTHALS FUCKING BREAST BAND that place is deadly!" she shook Cole by the shoulders "she cant survive there! Tara is strong but the wilds will eat her alive!" Cole looked up at the bigger woman "death with purpose, safety in silence... I think that is her plan." "Well her plan is fuckin STUPID. We need to get to her before she gets anymore bright ideas! She is not going to sacrifice herself for some dumbass Templar idiot. We are going to bring her back and if he wants to play mage killer then I'll" a deep dangerous growl rumbled in her chest "I will bring it down on him, he wont hurt her... ever."

Harel swung onto the harts back and pulled Cole up behind her. His soft voice accompanying the thud of the hooves "knotted, gnarled, gnawing, the pain of knowing, of being seen, sheltering inside my heart, oh Mythal what if I kill again. Charred bodies.... burning hate... but now I know the faces, everyone I love, everyone I protect crushed like ash. A new templar an old dance, I cannot let it end the same have to stop have to run. The screams the hiss of burning flesh in armor, Mamae! she is cold so cold. Its safer to run let them think me lost, Dorian will know I cannot lie to him. Harel's heart was heavy as stone listening to the pain that tore at her friend. "She's got so much pain and she just keeps adding more, I don't know how she is still going Cole."

"The lion and the serpent bind me to the light, breaking away old walls and hurt. New love in true forms swirling like honey in his tea, eyes of amber look at me with kindness, I cannot let go but I must for them."

"The serpent will know she cannot keep this from him, he sees her and loves her anyway. He will look in the book eventually, but she will be too far gone by then. The lion roars and she runs to save him from her blood in his mouth. The lion tests his chains, roaring as the whip cuts into him but this is for his own good, his fangs start to show as the links break, to break her would break him.

"I am a weapon I have no right to love him, and now he hurts and its all my fault. Soon the hunt will begin again just as before, The Templars will hunt me and I will flee."

Harel looked into the darkness of the trees as Cole whispered all Tara's fear and hurts to her. The weight grows on her shoulders and she thinks of the horrible pain of being so alone; of finally finding people who love her only to have the spirit she was forced to be bound to rip all of it away. We'll change her mind, Dorian knows, he will do anything to stop her being hunted."

"The serpent raises his head fearless, fangs glinting but never poised to bite. He curls around her defensive and defying he know the pain of being hated. The hurt of betrayal for things that you were born with, he understands and draws up to the lion without fear.....Dorian yelled alot." Harel huffed a laugh "of course he did, and that is good, especially if it was at that blockheaded idiot Commander. I cannot believe we keep such ignorant people ar-" "pain, mistrust, I give them my all and the keep forcing me down. the magic, is dangerous; the chantry mother licks her thumb before turning the page, magic is dangerous. I saw the suffering it causes in the circle in Kirkwall, and here. Magic is dangerous but I want so badly to trust, crushed like a flower beneath hooves. She used me! She let me think she was....normal I still love her how can I still love her."

"He still loves her? okay.....maybe he's not as ignorant as I thought.... Sylaise, I hope to fuck Dorian gets him to calm down before we find her." "His hurt touches hers" Cole's voice was quiet and sad. "The scent of sweet mint and rain, I feel myself slipping away but it is there oakmoss and mint, twisting, tantalizing and terribly apart. What have I done! I didn't even give her a chance! I will may never see her again!"

Harel's hands tightened on the reins as the hart navigated a rock "good the fear will make him remorseful, its better that he remains beating himself up for what he did until we get her. He will never hurt her again after this...never again."

Cole sucked in a breath as he caught the agony around Tara again "sharp shards of hate, like the spines of a dragon, raising like hackles, glowing with darkness and smoke. Her heart cannot break like this, it will break her the darkness will find her take her." Harel swallowed heavily "lets say we cant get to her quick enough, what is she going to.... become"

"A pale mask, the queen she refused to be, the mask hides only darkness, edges, and hate. The crystals she fears tear her apart, dark and sharpened wings singing a discordant song. Groping in the darkness, Mamae's cooling body. I am losing myself, falling into the nothing."

Harel shuddered at the thought of her friend giving in and turning into vengeance. "Mythal grant us time to get to her.

Tara couldn't run anymore, she was utterly exhausted from the trauma and the flight from skyhold. She collapsed to her side under a tree. She tried to summon magic to blunt the pain turn off the nerves, but she was too exhausted for that kind of focus. The darkness of unconsciousness claimed her.

"Her mind is quieter she is sleeping!" Cole told harel. "Good, we need to double time it then, before she takes off again." Cole watched the shadows of the trees, "quiet like a drop of water in a pond, undisturbed, no wolves or shadows just soft darkness. She will not be moving any time soon." Harel pushed the stag just a bit faster "damn gotta her give credit though, she can haul ass when she want to if Dorian hadn't found that note so quickly we have never caught up." The pair rode till dawn "darkness pooling but not silent, she is awake.... and close."

blue white eyes glowed faintly in the shadow of a great tree, a deep melodic voice growled "You are not the hounds I was expecting..."

okay my lovelies there will either be a really long episode or two more depending on how much my sad artist brain can take go check out @w-h-4-t she has alot of great writing and is fantastic at Cole's dialog

[idontblushsrry]

Do You Know That I Do Love You

Chapter 1: Do You Still Think Of Me Fondly?

Next>

Word Count:

Warnings: Some swearing, smut in later chapters

A/N: This is purely self indulgent at this point. I will get my black nobility/courtly romance fic and it just so happens to be with Han Ju-Do from Yona of the Dawn (great show if you ask me I think everyone should watch it and that it deserves more but, whateverrr) I don’t know how many chapters this is going to have, I thought 2 but maybe I’ll do 3 or 4 it all depends on what I feel like is gonna complete the story the best. Reader is black, she has a Korean last name to match with the rest of the show characters. Spoilers ahead for parts of Yona Of The Dawn anime/manga

A/N Pt.2: This is based off of the concept of courtly love  but w tweaks bcus I have like no ability to stick with angst permanently, like if asked nicely, I’ll do a happy ending (Also Reader and Ju-do are both single so). This fic is also based of this song if you want to get into the vibe.

You’d been told tales of the Crimson Dragon Castle just nothing could’ve compared to the majesty of seeing it in person. The gates opened and guards announced your arrival as your carriage pulled inside. You stared in awe at the sheer size of it while your attendants whispered something to each other that you didn’t quite pick up on.

“What was that?” 

You turned and your attendants immediately went silent, squirming and failing to meet your gaze each time you tried to capture them in it.

“Nothing milady just the talk of lowly servants that you shouldn’t concern yourself with.”

You could tell though from the guilt in her tone and the way the other attendant looked as though you’d have her thrown out if you heard what she said that you knew they were discussing the reason you’d even come to the palace. You were much too old to be an unmarried woman and the constant rumours of your status ranged in believability, the most outrageous being that you were a succubus and having a husband would get in the way of your appetites.

When you’d heard it, that made you cackle because you were the furthest thing from a succubus.

 It’s not like you felt ashamed of being a virgin, you were a grown woman after all, and it’s not as though you were the sole heir to your family’s name. You had plenty of siblings to carry on the family name. The issue lied in the fact that you were the oldest, your family tradition dictated that none shall marry before the oldest and as such you’d been on the receiving end of anger from your siblings, parents, potential suitors, and all in between. 

When your father first proposed the idea of marriage to you, many of your siblings were still too young to care or remember. You could feel the concern coming from both of your parents as they urged you to meet with suitors from other clans and families. And you could feel their growing rage as you rejected one after another. 

Now nearing two decades later, your siblings, the ones who were unconcerned with your marital status so long ago were now resentful of you. Many of them had approached you individually and together with their grievances, claiming you were holding the family back and restraining them from true love, all the things you’d heard before.

They’d brought those same complaints to father and he brought up the idea of a palace visit to you. No not in so few words nor with such direct intent but the message was there. He’d brought the idea up while you fed the fish in your private reserve.

‘I think that this place is too stifling of your abilities my dear. I’d like for you to go to the Crimson Dragon Palace in my stead, I’m getting rather old and the whole thing is nothing but a diplomatic affair anyways, I’m sure you can handle it.’ You were going to turn down his offer. Not consciously out of spite but because you knew what he wanted you to do. His words seemed like the ones of a trusting father but the undertone of ‘return with a fiancé or I’ll disown you’ rang clear as a bell through your head. You may have been stubborn but you weren’t a fool, your family had grown impatient with your antics and if this behavior continued, they’d send you packing without so much as a goodbye.

You’d contemplated that idea and thought up the pros and cons to being disowned. It wasn’t until you heard two maids whispering outside your room that night that you made your decision.

‘Poor Master Seong I heard that Lady (Y/N) is preventing him from meeting his heirs.’

‘Eh? What do you mean, how could she do that?’

‘She refuses to let any of her siblings get married and as the next clan head, any marriages from her siblings that occur before her own are forbidden.’

‘Wow! Really, then why won’t she just get married already?’

‘Who knows.’

By the following night you were in a carriage on your way to the castle. Coincidentally with the two maids that spoke ill of you that night. It seems that they still haven’t gained the ability to shut up even when it’s in their best interest.

The carriage pulled up to the guest exit and you didn’t have to wait long before the carriage was opened by one of the palace servants.

“Welcome Lady Seong”

You were rushed to yet another carriage that would take you to your quarters while your attendants followed someone else to the servants’ quarters. For the first time in the weeks it’d taken you to travel here, you could feel yourself begin to truly relax. The servant next to you was stiff with rigid and tense shoulders especially compared to your unladylike and unrefined composure. But, they were quiet. You weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and you didn’t particularly feel like talking to ease the tension in the carriage, so, you ignored it. Most of it was coming from the servant not knowing how to react to you anyways.

You closed your eyes to think of the last time you felt truly happy and all your defeated mind could conjure was an image of a chubby outstretched hand handing you a six-petaled flower.

“Milady? We’ve arrived at your quarters.”

You stepped out of the dark carriage into the courtyard of the place you’d be staying. Only to find that this courtyard was slightly nicer than you’d expected a standard nobles courtyard to be. There was an abundance of flowers, rocks lining the foliage. A bridge that spanned a small river that begun with a waterfall. Birds, a gazebo lined with jewels in the far corner, and the fragrant scent of jasmine flowers.

The servant, seemingly unfazed by the extravagance, urged you to follow her with a motion of her head. Her feet leading you through the courtyard with practiced expertise, you managed to keep up with her strides by clutching your dress up some and resisting the urge to gawk at every element passing you by. 

She brought you to a spacious room similarly sized as the room you slept in back home. The room was relatively bare save for a large bed pressed against the wall in the center of the room, a wardrobe, vanity and an incense holder among other things.

She turned to you and bowed before turning to leave. “Before you leave, what’s your name?”, she froze as though she wasn’t expecting you to actually speak to her. She turned back to you with a close eyed smile.

“My name? It’s Ha-Neul”

You’d received the first and arguably the most difficult of your diplomatic duties when within 3 days of your stay, you were being summoned by King Suwon. While the letter came as a shock to you, you nearly had a heart attack when you learned you’d be meeting in the King’s personal tea gardens. You’d take it as a compliment, however, you were 1) essentially all alone with no one to back you up should you fail to be adept at conversation and 2) you’d only met the new king as a boy and in passing, you were somewhat underprepared and knew nothing more of him than what you’d heard in passing.

‘No. Don’t think like that (Y/N)’, you looked at your reflection in the mirror, your braids hung down, the tight coils of your hair wrapped up inside of them as they hung down from your scalp to frame your face. ‘You are more than capable, if it weren’t for your intelligence, you wouldn’t have made it this far. You can do this.’ You took a look at your outfit. It was unfit to meet the king. But before you could begin working yourself up into another nervous tizzy, Ha-neul knocked on your door, her consistent rapping against it breaking you out of your anxious reverie.

Ha-Neul was truly a miracle worker. She’d managed to make your previously tense body appear completely calm and put together with a few twists of her wrists and some careful thought into what she’d have you wear to meet with the king.

By the time the carriage had stopped, the anxiety in your gut had settled to a deep thrum that would remind you of its presence at the very center of your being but wouldn’t seize control of your body. This mercy provided by your anxiety allowed you to put one foot in front of the other like you’d done since you were a child, albeit with a more conscious effort.

You’re led by a flurry of servants and guards to where Suwon was sitting so tranquilly in his tea gardens. It was amazing how much he’d grown since you’d last seen him but those same features he had as a child seemed to have aged with his spirit. You didn’t know why but you got this deep guttural feeling that he’d done something akin to a betrayal of himself. It showed oh so subtly in the way he drank his tea with an air of  practiced indifference that he tried to cover with a layer of oversaturated artificial happiness.

“Lady Seong, it’s good to see you. I hope your quarters are to your liking.”

Showtime.

You bowed respectfully to him before replying, “Yes, the room is lovely and even more so the courtyard. I’d love to speak with the person who designed it. How have you been your majesty?”

You’d hoped flattery would work with him, all your cues were being taken from him but it was near impossible to get a read on him. You kept your tone and demeanor light and cheery but eve still that was all he was giving you. It was like he was trying to gauge you at the same time.

Oh, you realized embarrassingly belatedly, this is a test.

The new king couldn’t afford any threats to his power and securing allyship while weeding out untrustworthy people was the most effective way for him to achieve that in lieu of starting a full-scale war. 

But Kouka didn’t need that. 

Since you were attending in your father’s stead, he’s likely assumed that you’re the new head of your clan, ‘If only he knew’.

Well, if it’s a test he wants then a test he’ll get. Two could play that game and you always were very good at mind games.

It feels as though it’s been about 30 minutes of you and King Suwon exchanging formalities, trying to see who’d crack. But finally, the tea and snack get delivered and you realize that for now, you’d reached a stalemate with the King. You could count it as a win but judging from the fact you still couldn’t tell what he was thinking, you mentally conceded to the standstill with him,  and from the sigh he let out it seems he’s resigned himself to the same fate.

“Let’s eat then shall we.” he says good-naturedly, like the careful tension of your previous exchange never happened, so you nod in agreement. Waiting for him to take the first bite and sip before following suit. You close your eyes and simply enjoy the gentle floral taste and aroma of the tea. You take a moment of respite in the tea and neglect your surroundings for a moment.

You hear big clunky footsteps hurry their way down the hallway you and Suwon are staying in before, “My King, I apologize for my lateness, and while inexcusable, I hope that you can forgive me.”

You recognize that voice, you move to open your eyes at the same time the man stands up and before King Suwon can get his answer out, you interrupt him with “Ju...do?”

He looks down at you with a sneer looking ready to give you a tongue- lashing for interrupting the King and calling him out of his station. Before a look of recognition flashes in his eyes and he looks away hurriedly, calling your name with a formal “Lady Seong, I didn’t know you were at the castle."

Ok, ouch. Few things hurt worse than the person you’d spent an embarrassing amount of time fawning over as a teenager (and young adult) dismissing you with such a dismissive and cold formality. 

You’d already fucked up by interrupting the King and you weren’t about to fuck up again by not responding to a General when directly addressed by one. “I didn’t know you were at the castle either, General.” If you were nothing more than a formality to him, then he’d be nothing more than a formality to you.

Yes you were aware of how petty and flimsy that logic was. He hadn’t seen you in years, of course he was going to be cordial with you. But the other part of you, the person who was heartbroken by the same man who stood in front of you right now, someone that you thought you buried long ago, hoped that calling him General hurt just as much as hearing him call you anything but (Y/N).

[dkscribe88]

Tavronica Week Prompt 3: Visions of the Future

I will be perfectly honest about this one...in my opinion it’s not my best. I neglected to think this one out as well as prompt 2. The next one is a lot better, and the good news with this one is it’s short...Well, short for my writing. Anyway, this is another continuation of yesterday’s storyline. Hope you like it.

Another day dawned, and Tavra awakened by herself in the cabin. At first, she panicked. She quickly left the room, scared to be alone. Scared that Onica wasn’t there. Once on deck, she focused only on finding her Sifa. The ship wasn’t big, so she quickly spotted her love standing at the stern and practically sprinted towards her. Onica looked at her strangely as she neared.

“Is everything alright, love?” Tavra nodded, visibly relaxing once she was by her Sifa’s side.

“Yes. I just- I woke up and you were gone. I was worried my mother may have found us. That something had happened to you.” Onica gave her a warm, reassuring smile. She gestured for Tavra to come over, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in for a gentle kiss.

“I’m sorry, Tavy. I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m here now, and that’s not going to change for a good, long while.” Tavra laid her head on Onica’s shoulder, taking comfort in her touch.

They stayed that way for a while, neither speaking. Simply breathing in the other’s presence, content and relieved to be with each other. Eventually, Tavra broke the silence, her lips feather-light on the seer’s neck as she spoke.

“I love you, so very much. I promise, I will do everything I can to protect you from my mother.” Onica chuckled lightly at this, causing Tavra to look up at her. “Did I say something funny?”

“Not exactly, Tav. It’s just, I don’t think your mother will be a problem, at least not in the immediate future. Why don’t you take a look around?” Tavra did as she suggested, realizing with a start that there was nothing but the deep blue ocean, as far as she could see. Onica had been standing at the tiller, steering them on their way. To where, Tavra couldn’t care less, as long as Ha’rar was far behind them. But she knew, no matter where they went, her mother would find them. Anxiety arose once again, along with a deep sadness. Onica noticed the change in her mood and held her tighter, speaking softly into her ear.

“Hey, it’ll be alright. No matter what happens, we’ll get through it and finally make our dream of creating a clan of our own a reality. I know. I’ve seen it.” Tavra’s head rose up, letting her look directly into Onica’s ocean-colored eyes, searching for confirmation that her lover’s words held true.

“I would not lie to you to spare your feelings, love. You know that. Would you like to hear of my vision? About our future, together. No All-Maudra. Answering only to ourselves.” Tavra smiled at this. She returned her head to Onica’s shoulder.

“Please, tell me.” Onica smiled, leaning her head to rest against Tavra’s, the little silver bells in her hair jingling gently in the breeze.

“Gladly. A vision came to me one night, not so long ago. I saw a ship, quite a bit grander than this one. Tae was there, standing next to a man I didn’t recognize. A Sifa we’ve yet to meet. She was older, a few grey hairs mixed in with her rose-gold locks, watching over five childlings. Two looked a bit like her, an older boy and a little girl. One looked like the man she was with, another boy that wrestled with his siblings.

“The other two look nothing like Tae or her mate at all. The oldest was about fifteen, her hair colored silver with streaks of red mixed in. She looks a lot like both of us, but she definitely has your eyes. She carries herself like you, strong and confident. A sword at her side, Sifa charms in her hair. And best of all, she’s free to live however she wishes.” Tavra felt her happiness grow.

“And the other one?”

“Another beautiful and strong girl, about twelve trine old. Untamable, fiery red hair, with bits of lavender and silver here and there. Eyes like the sea, with your beautiful face. Skin fair but tanned and freckled from the sun. She’s very cheeky, this one, but also very wise. I think she may also have the gift of Far-Dreaming and is a decent soothsayer too. From what I saw, she was standing near a table, reading another crewman’s bones for them.”

“And what about us? Where are we?” Tavra’s voice was excited, her hope growing that things may yet turn out for them.

“I am at the helm, with you at my side, steering our course toward a new land, somewhere far beyond the Silver Sea. For some strange reason, you’ve got a tattoo shaped like a spider upon your hand, which seems like an odd choice for you. Other than that, not much has changed for you. You’ve aged, as well as I have, but you’re still strong in body and mind. We’re finally free together and happier than we’ve ever been, content in our family and in our lives.”

Onica lifted her head once she’d finished, Tavra following in curiosity, only for lips to press against her own. She smiled into the kiss and a little more happiness filled her heart. There future was their own. All they had to do was get there.

- DK

[akaluan]

Erich/Kisuke/Alexis: Soulmate AU + Character in Peril Part 17

They break camp shortly after true dawn.

It’s later than Erich wanted, but they’re not that far behind schedule.

(Not that they really have a schedule anymore.)

(Or anyone expecting them at the other end of their march…)

(No.)

(Focus.)

It feels odd to be abandoning camp the way they are, with all the tents still pitched and crates still scattered around, ruined and discarded equipment left behind, and with nothing but the essentials on their backs and stretchers for the men too injured to keep up. The whole place is booby trapped, rigged with explosives and wires and anything else the men could come up with on such short notice; it certainly isn’t perfect and there’s no guarantee that they’ll catch anyone with it, but at least they tried.

There’s nothing for them to return to and they all know it.

They’ve abandoned the field, abandoned their duty, and now they have to live with the consequences, whatever those may be.

They’re carrying enough food and supplies for a week’s march and that’s it. If they get delayed, if they have to take a longer route, if something — anything — goes wrong—

(No.)

(Focus.)

(They’ll make it.)

Both battalions settle into the steady, driving pace that time and emergencies have ground into their bones, and Alexis keeps pace without sign of strain. She’s probably using her inner power to bolster her strength, given that marching is not exactly a skill their people develop. Not to the extent he and his men have, old hands at marching for survival as they are.

On his other side, Urahara also keeps pace, though it’s obvious that he’s surprised by the speed in which they’re moving. Erich doesn’t know the man’s abilities well enough to decide if Urahara is having to bolster his own strength like Alexis is, but… he suspects that’s the case.

(Give a people a method of fast travel and of course they’ll discard the forced march as soon as possible.)

(If Reapers ever had a reason to march anywhere…)

(The scattered, decentralized ‘divisions’ Urahara spoke of makes him doubt that.)

“You know what your decision will make our Clan think,” Alexis murmurs as soon as they’ve all settled into the pace and are making good time through the forest.

Erich grimaces at her words and resists the urge to glance over at Urahara yet again; he does know what other Quincy will think, seeing him with the start of a power-weave bond connecting him to the man. They’re going to think he’s known Urahara for months, that they’ve made peace with each other and found a tentative balance and that Erich isn’t terrified of the Reaper he’s inviting into their home. It’s… it’s a convenient misconception, even if he hadn’t been thinking of it when he did it, but…

He doesn’t know how well he can uphold that misconception, because it’s a lie, because he is terrified, because the sight of Urahara standing over him is petrifying no matter how prepared he is, but…

But he can’t undo it, can’t take it back, because he needs to carry Benihime and this… this is the only way he can.

“I know,” he settles on, resigned-accepting-tired in a way that’s become all too familiar.

(He doesn’t remember what it’s like to not be resigned-accepting-tired anymore.)

(He’s lost so much, forced himself on for so long, that he… he doesn’t know if he can stop anymore.)

(Urahara is just one more weight to carry, one more responsibility to juggle, but…)

Erich forces his breathing to match his pace. Forces his mind to focus on the physical. Forces himself to let go, because… because…

Because Urahara is more than just a weight, more than just a source of stress. The dual beats of trust-wonder-loyalty from soulbond and power-weave are intoxicating, the lack of pain he’s in is breathtaking, and the memory of stories traded well into the depths of night is… subtler. Kinder. Humanizing when he’d never thought, never expected, to find any sort of common ground with a Reaper of all people.

(He wonders what that says about himself.)

(Wonders if he even wants to know.)

(Decides he probably doesn’t.)

Alexis gives him a concerned look and Urahara brushes concern-question-worry against his senses, both of them reacting to his twisting emotions, and…

It’s hard not to simply shake his head and deny anything being wrong, but… but they all know better than that.

“It’ll be alright,” he breathes, more for himself than for them, and reaches through his bonds to brush exhaustion-acceptance-hope against both of them as his true answer.

(Only a little longer.)

(Just one more march and then he can rest.)

(He can make it.)

(He will make it.)

(He has to.)

***

They keep moving, pushing on through the morning and into the early afternoon, stopping to rest and reconnoiter every few hours.

They’ve been lucky so far according to the scouts; the enemy hasn’t penetrated this far into the forests yet, still cautious-wary-uncertain after nearly a week of nighttime strikes and units unexpectedly dying. There’s no sign of the enemy advancing and no sign of active mages, which is all Erich can hope for at the moment.

That will change, he knows that will change, but for now…

For now he keeps them moving. Keeps pushing through the daylight for as long as his men can stand. Calls for breaks when he judges them needed. Orders them on when he senses they’ve recovered. Shares his spiritual power with Alexis when her own starts to flag, and almost, almost reaches out to do the same to Urahara, but…

Urahara is determination-focus-loyalty through their bond, the power tying them together unwavering, and Erich… Erich doesn’t know how to ask, how to offer, doesn’t know if it would even be accepted…

(Doesn’t know if he can make himself share…)

(Shame gnaws at his stomach for the doubt.)

(That’s his soulmate…)

(He should… should be able to…)

Erich grits his teeth and turns his attention to the land in front of them.

(He’ll handle it later.)

They make good time, for all that they’re exhausted and are carrying wounded with them.

(He’s given them hope, given them something they want, and they’re willing to push themselves to reach it.)

(They’re all good men, and he’s… he’s glad that Alexis arrived, that she offered Rerugen lands and hospitality when he could not.)

(None of them deserve the horrors their country has subjected them to.)

They march until the sun begins to set, shadows lengthening across the ground, a greedy darkness that quickly starts to obscure the hazards beneath their feet. Too much longer and they’ll be marching in impenetrable darkness, forced to slow their pace to a crawl even if they take the risk of lighting their way.

(Not that any of them want to.)

(Bad enough they’re marching away from an active combat zone.)

(Worse if they attract other attention along the way.)

(For all that man has conquered magic, there are still wild places amongst the world that are better left… undisturbed.)

Urahara stumbles and Erich automatically reaches out, grasping the man’s elbow to steady him, and—

Urahara freezes. Stumbles again, almost dragging them both down—

Erich huffs and drags Urahara up instead. “Fool,” he mutters as he tugs Urahara close, practically shoving power through their soulbond to refill Urahara’s own reserves. Now that he’s paying attention, he can feel how low Urahara strength is, and the shame-guilt-distress of earlier roars back to the fore; if only he had paid attention, if only he had reached out—

“Maa, maa, you really don’t have to! I—”

“You aren’t trained for this,” Erich snaps, then swallows back the other, equally sharp words that want to escape and looks back to catch Schwarz’s attention instead. “Major Schwarz!” he calls out, sensing the way the men around them perk up at his voice and knowing they’ll be pleased by his next words. “Call a halt, we’ve gone far enough for today.”

“Yes sir!” Schwarz replies, too disciplined to sound relieved but clearly feeling it all the same.

Erich considers the darkening forest around them for a moment, then adds, “Keep the fires to a minimum, just enough to heat some food, and then put them out again. Let’s not tempt fate.”

“Of course not, sir! I’ll pass the message along.”

Content with the knowledge that his men will be fine, Erich scans the area, looking for a place to rest for the night; a forest floor isn’t his preferred place to sleep — there’s very little comfort to be found in nature, if he’s being honest — but he’s slept in worse places.

As his men begin to fall out and set up their own small camps, Erich decides on a spot beneath an ancient, towering tree and pulls Urahara along with him, Alexis following in their wake.

“Sit down,” he orders Urahara as he lets go of the man, then turns away before Urahara can respond. He drops his pack with a groan and stretches, trying to work the kinks out of his spine before he starts setting up their minimal ‘camp’. Usually he’d just set up with Schwarz or Degurechaff, but… he’s not sure if he should this time, not sure where exactly the line is when dragging two soulmates around—

“The men are settling in, sir,” Schwarz reports, startling Erich from his thoughts. “Scouts are still reporting no sign of the enemy.”

“Good,” Erich says as he crouches down to get a closer look at the ground. It’s well padded with leaf litter at least, so they won’t have to sleep directly on the ground, and he doesn’t see any evidence of an insect nest nearby either. “Keep the watch close to camp tonight, and make sure everyone knows to keep the light to a minimum once the food’s been heated up.”

Schwarz watches him work for a moment, then glances past him to the gathering darkness beyond their makeshift camp. “Understood, sir, I’ll make sure the men know. I doubt the enemy will want to advance through that, anyway.”

“Not many people do,” Erich says with a faint smile, glancing up at Schwarz as he does. “Is there anything else, Major?”

“No, sir! I’ll return with some food when it’s ready.”

Erich watches Schwarz leave, then resumes setting up their minimal ‘camp’ as best he can; there’s little he can do besides making sure there aren’t any sticks or stones under where he plans to set their bedrolls, but anything is better than nothing. And without a fire or a tent, they’re going to want as much padding between them and the ground as possible.

“Here,” Alexis says as she kicks more leaves towards him. “Think we should do a bit of searching ourselves?” she asks softly as she crouches down next to him. “We could combine it with refilling his reserves.”

He sighs and scrubs the back of his wrist across his forehead, shame-embarrassment-guilt curdling his stomach at the reminder of what he let happen. “That’s… probably wise,” he murmurs as he casts a quick glance over his shoulder at Urahara, then looks away the instant Urahara meets his gaze. “That… I shouldn’t have let that happen…”

Alexis snorts and bumps her shoulder into his, brushing warmth-reassurance-confidence against his senses as she does. “We’re still feeling each other out, remember.”

“But I almost…!”

“And if his strength had given out before night, you would have corrected it,” she says firmly, leaning into his side. “I know you, Erich. No matter how you feel about him, he’s currently a man under your protection, and you would not have left him to suffer.”

Erich grimaces and wipes the debris from his hands, uncertain if he agrees with Alexis’ assessment; he’d entirely tuned Urahara out until the very last moment when he’d reached out and caught the man. If that wasn’t evidence that he would leave the man to suffer, he wasn’t sure what was.

(He could have done more.)

(Should have done more.)

(Just like he’d done for Alexis throughout the day…!)

Alexis gives him a sidelong look, then shrugs and turns away. “Urahara,” she calls, then gestures to the two packs sitting within arm’s reach of the man. “Can you throw us the bedrolls?” she asks, pronouncing her words as clearly and distinctly as she can.

“Bedrolls?” Urahara repeats carefully, a frown creeping in as he gives the packs a long, hard look. But before Erich can try to translate, understanding seems to dawn on Urahara’s face and he begins unlacing the bedrolls tied to each pack and tosses them one by one to Alexis. “Bedrolls,” he repeats again, a tiny, pleased grin on his face.

Alexis grins back at him as she catches the three bundles — one from Alexis’ pack and two from Erich’s — and hands them off to Erich for him to set up. “Good,” she praises, making a touch of color rise in Urahara’s cheeks as the man ducks his head.

It’s the work of moments to set all three of them up atop the padding of leaf litter, and Erich takes a moment to brush a hand over the bottom edge of each, setting up a tiny heating ward to slowly warm the interiors over the next few hours.

(He rarely takes the risk, but… Urahara’s being dealing with the Hollows in the area.)

(It should be safe to do this.)

(Hopefully…)

Erich sighs and pushes himself to his feet, the offers his hand to Alexis to help her up. “Food should be ready soon, then we’ll meditate,” he says as he crosses the small distance to Urahara and starts to sit, only to grimace as Benihime gets in the way. With a thought he adjusts the harness keeping her in place, giving them both a bit more freedom so her hilt isn’t jabbing into his hip. He tips his head back and closes his eyes, trying to dredge up the courage he needs to say— “I’m sorry.”

Leaves crunch as Urahara shifts position, confusion-awkwardness-uncertainty trickling through their paired bonds as he struggles for words. “I don’t understand,” he says eventually. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I do. I helped Alexis and not you,” Erich explains as best he can.

Urahara huffs a laugh. “I wouldn’t expect you to support two people the entire day. I only know a handful of people with reserves that deep, and neither of us qualify.”

Erich purses his lips and gives Urahara a considering look, uncertain if Urahara is just being polite or if the man legitimately doesn’t know that Quincy can draw power from the world around them. “It doesn’t matter how shallow or deep my reserves are,” he settles on at last. “The fact remains that I should have assisted you and I did not. Will you let me make it up to you?”

“Make it up to me…?” Urahara repeats in confusion, then shakes his head and asks, “How?”

“We’ll…” Erich grimaces, scrambling for the Akitsugo word for ‘meditate’ and turning up blank. He wishes Degurachaff was around to translate, but she’s probably off checking the camp and the men, and he has no idea when her rounds will be finished. “Meditate?” he tries in Imperial, only to sigh when Urahara shakes his head in incomprehension. “Sorry. I don’t know the word. But… sharing power? The three of us together. And tomorrow I will help keep your reserves steady.”

Urahara shakes his head again. “I don’t want you stressing yourself. I can manage.”

“Will your reserves be full again in the morning?” Erich asks pointedly, knowing that he hadn’t done much more than keep Urahara from collapsing from exhaustion earlier. Urahara’s awkward glance down is all he needs to know the truth: a single night won’t be enough. “Then trust me. Let me do this. You will see.”

He tries not to squirm under the sharp, assessing look Urahara gives him at that, then breathes out a quiet sigh when the man finally nods.

“We can try it,” Urahara agrees, their connection awash with trust-acceptance-loyalty once again. “But if I sense that you’re beginning to falter, we end it then and there.”

Erich smiles faintly at Urahara’s words. “Trust me,” he repeats, amused by the exasperated look that earns him.

Urahara will learn the truth soon enough.

(Hopefully this doesn’t backfire on him.)

(No.)

(He can’t think that way.)

(It will be fine.)

(Everything will be fine.)

(It has to be…)

(It has to be.)

[crispyjenkins]

I just fell on your jangobi fix-it and... Uh... Alright if it's a future fix maybe not a prompt for this verse but else what about another jangobi? Something sweet and cuddly? Have a good day and much love to you ♥

(i’m almost done with the first chapter of the fix-it, so will maybe be able to post it soon?? but have an experiment with another one of my au’s where boba is force sensitive and jango is Big Gay so doesn’t know how to ask for help properly and somehow convinces obi to teach him the basics by rescuing him on geonosis when he was unable to get a message to anakin. it a mess. i hope boba cuddles suffice!

AND MUCH LOVE TO YOU i hope you stay safe and healthy!     (づ￣ ³￣)づ )

  “You’ll have to let me go eventually,” Obi-Wan says one night, with Boba sitting in his lap meditating. Jango looks up from the datapad where he’s calculating their next jump, and raises an eyebrow at Obi-Wan’s serene expression. 

  The jetii had appropriated a stretch of floor in the galley for a folded blanket to act as a meditation mat, which means Jango can keep an eye on them during Boba’s lessons, but Jango has come to find it’s a lot less moving things with your mind and a lot more sitting around thinking. Boba seems to be enjoying himself, though, even if Jango isn’t used to seeing his kid so calm for such long stretches of time.

  He shakes away the thought and focuses back on Obi-Wan, who isn’t even looking at him, his eyes closed as he pretends to meditate for Boba’s sake. 

  Jango snorts. “I don’t have you under a suppressor,” he says, adding another digit to his calculation. “You could have escaped weeks ago.”

  “Mm, perhaps,” Obi-Wan murmurs with that kriffing smile that makes Jango want to shoot him and be done with it. But Boba still needs a teacher, and Jango doubts he’d forgive him if he tried to kill Obi-Wan. Again, anyways. 

  “I think you’re avoiding the jetiise,” Jango says, like this is something they do, and they don’t: they try their damndest to stay away from this topic, to talk about almost anything else to avoid being reminded of how precarious this arrangement is. 

  They’re existing on borrowed time, and Jango knows Obi-Wan is too perfect a Jedi to leave the war for much longer. He’s spoken with that padawan of his, of course, but there’s no possible course of events where Obi-Wan doesn’t return for him. No matter how much Jango might want him not to. 

  Obi-Wan lets out a little sigh, the sound impossibly intimate in the quiet rumble of the ship. “Jango,” he says and finally opens his eyes. He checks on Boba first, expression the sort of affectionate that has gotten Jango into more trouble than he cares to admit. 

  Carefully brushing the hair from Boba’s face, Obi-Wan somehow manages not to disturb the kid from his trancelike state as he drops a kiss onto his forehead. 

  They’ve been at this for five ten-days, sequestered in the Slave I and only making landfall on neutral planets long enough to restock, and yet it sometimes feels as if Obi-Wan has always traveled with them. As if he’s always puttered sleepily around the galley in the morning making hetikleyc caf, or helped Boba with his reading lessons, or joined Jango in the cockpit after Boba’s gone to bed. As if their... scuffle on Kamino had never happened.

  “I cannot abandon Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, glancing up with that serene expression peeling at the edges. 

  “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

  He sighs again. “I know you wouldn’t, just as I would never ask you to part with Boba. And I cannot abandon my family to face this war alone, I cannot ignore the Jedi’s place in it, but I... would not abandon you and Boba, either.”

  Which is the crux of the problem, isn’t it? That Jango has ruined this man by forcing him to choose between two families.

  Well, in his defense, he hadn’t gone into this with the intention of getting attached, either him or Boba, but Jango should have known better, with the sort of luck he’s been living with since he was ten standard years. It makes him wonder about Obi-Wan’s own luck, if it landed him here with them.

  With him.

  Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow as if he knows what he’s thinking, but is luckily trapped until Boba resurfaces, so Jango is safe to level him with a glare warning him against reading his mind. 

  Scoffing, Obi-Wan straightens against the wall. “You do not intimidate me, Jango Fett.”

  “There must be something keeping you here,” Jango snorts, “and I don’t think it’s my charming smile.”

  “No, it’s the charming smile of your progeny,” he returns easily, any bite softened by the fact Boba is leant against his chest like he belongs there. Then Obi-Wan’s smile slips a little, and Jango knows the Slave I is too small to run from this conversation. “What do you plan to do?”

  Jango lets out a slow breath and sets aside his datapad, somehow already exhausted with this. “Well, we can’t go back to Kamino, not unless the jetiise are suddenly willing to be very, very forgiving,” he says, unsurprised by Obi-Wan’s grimace of agreement. “I was thinking Concord Dawn.”

  “That’s a gamble. Are you in contact with other Haat Mando’ade?”

  Jango grunts. “Not any that would be willing to give us asylum. But there are a few old clans that might help us get on our feet.”

  “You could...” Obi-Wan clears his throat and lets his face twist. “You should stay in neutral systems, I can’t imagine Count Dooku would take kindly to you in CIS space.”

  Jango hmms non-committedly, eyeing him; sometimes Obi-Wan has all the subtlety of a rancor, when it’s something he’s overthinking, and Jango would really rather he didn’t have to think about why he knows that. 

  “I cannot read minds, Kenobi,” he offers, when Obi-Wan has gone back to watching Boba meditate. 

  “Ah, well.” He clears his throat again, Jango noting with backburner delight that he’s blushing underneath his beard. “It... crossed my mind that Stewjon has remained a neutral party in every galactic conflict since its first settlers. Their system is too small for the CIS to care about, and the Senate gave up on them decades ago.”

  “Stewjon,” Jango repeats and, even knowing that it’s impossible to follow Obi-Wan’s thought process at all times, it still throws him off centre. He only knows Stewjon even exists because he almost hyperjumped through it on his first flight with Jaster, and you don’t tend to forget the planet you almost exploded with bad math. “Alright, jetii, I’ll bite: what’s on Stewjon?” Obi-Wan’s expression twitches, the fact he won’t meet Jango’s eye more telling than any lie he might be thinking up. Jango knows him too well, too fast, to be fooled. “I thought you were a temple bastard.”

  “I was,” he says softly, brushing over Boba’s hair again. “The healers do genetic tests to make sure they don’t accidentally poison the younglings. I never went looking for my family, but I’ve visited Stewjon for cultural festivals several times; the Stewjoni are a bit insular, but are welcoming to refugees. They have similar creeds as Mando’ade regarding children, and would certainly welcome Boba into their schools.”

  This is bigger than Jango has the time to process at the moment, bigger than the way Obi-Wan has let Jango hold his ‘saber or see him without his many layers, bigger than the way Obi-Wan has stuck around them by choice for so long. Jango doesn’t try to stop himself from asking, “And does your ad know about this?”

  “No. I’ve never told Anakin.”

  “Then why in Corellian Hells are you telling me.” 

  Obi-Wan shrugs, but that’s not good enough. Jango pushes himself to his feet to lean against the table instead, and maybe Obi-Wan also knows him too well, too fast, when that’s all it takes for him to give in. 

  “I can’t keep Anakin away from the war, not with what the Senate is asking of the Jedi. I can’t keep any of them safe, not even the younglings, but I can get you and Boba somewhere as far away as possible.”

  “You don’t owe us anything, Obi-Wan,” Jango says. “If anything, I owe you.”

  “For the kidnapping, yes,” Obi-Wan chuckles, like he hadn’t been forcibly rescued from his execution on Geonosis by the very bounty hunter he had been trying to apprehend, and then forced at blaster-point to train his force-sensitive clone son to control his newfound powers. “I do not have to owe you anything to help you, Jango. That’s somewhat the core of the Jedi code.”

  “Still,” he grumbles. That smile returns, and it really would just be easier to shoot him. Then, against his better judgement but with Sheeka a burning hole in his mind, Jango says, “And when the war is over?”

  Obi-Wan fully flinches and drops his gaze. “Well, it’s a little early for that sort of talk, isn’t it?” And it doesn’t matter if he means early in the war, or early for them, because Jango knows his answer will be the same. 

  He watches Obi-Wan start to coax Boba back to reality, his kid blinking back awake to the soft lights of the galley, and tucks that question away for later. War waits for no one, least of all them. 

Mando’a: jetii — Jedi, pl. jetiise hetikleyc caf — Mandalorian spiced caf, lit. spicy caf (fan creation courtesy of @atelier-dayz​ !) Haat Mando’ade — lit. true children of Mandalore, i.e. True Mandalorians ad — child, kid. gender neutral 

[moveslikebucky]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Mr Cortese/Mr Harrison (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Ineffable Tutors (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Touch-Starved, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens)

Hello friends I am back at it again with the tutors - this time just a little soft hurt/comfort.  Full fic is under the cut, but can also be read on AO3 at the link!  Special thanks to the wonderful @writingelizabeth for the beta read <3 

---

If it had been any other day, Aziraphale could have ignored it. Could’ve thought of it as a trick of the light or a flight of fancy. Could’ve left well enough alone and not let his mind latch on to what he thought he saw.

Aziraphale is well-practiced at this; at making excuses for things. At not reading into the way yellow eyes linger a bit too long, on the meaning behind favors and gifts. He decidedly does not get caught up in the fleeting touch of long spindly fingers to his short and stout ones over a passed bottle of wine. Well, maybe just a little bit. Lets himself think of it in the wee hours of the night when no one is around to notice.

But the clock is ticking and the world keeps spinning, and nothing in all of creation is slowing it down. The End (capital E) is coming, all rather soon now; and Crowley, for whatever reason, is wearing tartan socks today.

They aren’t just any tartan, they’re Aziraphale’s tartan. And all the pomp and rules and meanings behind it. He’d often wondered, in the back of his mind, if Crowley had understood. They had been there when the tartans of the old clans were first made; when they were first passed down. They knew the rituals, the familial bonds required. The seriousness of the gift of tartan.

And one night in 1967, in an intricate ritual of his own devising, Aziraphale had passed Crowley a thermos of holy water, printed with his own tartan. He had hoped Crowley understood the significance, understood that this was Aziraphale reaching out in more ways than one. That he meant everything he said about “someday”, that he wanted Crowley safe, and, under all that with a beige pattern on a tin thermos, that he wanted Crowley by his side, under his mantle.

And today Crowley had worn tartan socks. Aziraphale had noticed as he watched Crowley teaching Warlock maths (Crowley had always been regrettably good at maths; Warlock was shaping up to be much the same). Crowley had deigned to perch on top of the desk in the library they were using as a one-student classroom, crossing one leg up over his bony knee. The cuff of his trousers had ridden up just enough that the pattern was evident. A tiny peek of beige and tan crosshatch, unmistakable to Aziraphale, who’s been wearing that pattern for centuries. He’d spent the majority of his own lesson distracted by the thought of bony ankles, and the majority of the ride in the Bentley back to the shop distracted by further thoughts. Ones that involved interlaced fingers and gentle brushes of lips; thoughts he wasn’t allowed to entertain.

“Well, this is you,” Crowley says matter of factly when they pull up outside the old bookshop. Aziraphale finds he’s not really ready for the day to end, and he could use a drink.

“Would you like to come in, dear? Maybe go over next week’s lesson plans, possibly over a nice bottle of Château Latour?”

“Twist my arm, why don’t you?” Crowley says with a grin as he shuts off the engine, the both of them clambering out of the car to head inside. Aziraphale fumbles with his keys as Crowley drones on about how Warlock is doing in his schoolwork.

“Boy’s a natural, angel! Absolutely a wizard at algebra, who would have thought it?” Crowley says as they enter the shop, candles popping to life of their own accord and blinds drawing themselves. Far too late in the evening to be opening anyway.

“Quite a whiz at numbers, yes. By far his favorite subject.” Aziraphale heads to the back storage as Crowley makes himself comfortable, plopping himself down on the old Chesterfield that’s as much his as anything else in the world at this point. Like he belongs there; like it’s home. Aziraphale takes a moment in the wine storage. Just a bit, just to breathe. It would be unfair, now, to act on these feelings. There are only a few short years left until they learn if their methods have been successful.

It would be cruel, Aziraphale thinks, to give in now. To let the emotions and feelings and yearning finally overtake him, drag him into the undertow and pull him out to sea. He knows, of course, has known with great clarity since 1941 that Crowley loves him. Has known with an agonizing heartache of his own love since 1862. It had snuck up on him, wormed its way into his heart as a seed way back in the Garden. Blooming bright and brilliant on one of the worst days of his life.

No, none of that now. There isn’t enough time. He wipes away the scant few tears that have decided to track down his face, breathes in deeply, and grabs the wine, determined to, at the very least, have a nice evening in.

Crowley is still chattering from across the shop, going on about something to do with Atila the Hun’s grandmother. Aziraphale can hear the pride in Crowley’s voice, still amazed at how much he’s taken to his disguises. Ashtoreth was much softer than Crowley would like to admit, a caregiver and a nurturer. And now, as Mr. Harrison, Crowley is able to impart knowledge. One would think, with Aziraphale being the bookshop owner, that he would take to teaching much more readily than the demon. But, one would be wrong.

Crowley has spent his entire existence asking questions. Sometimes the wrong ones, and sometimes the right ones. But it is in his nature, down to the very core of him to be inquisitive, to wonder, and to learn. Is it any wonder he takes so readily to gifting that knowledge out?

He did give humanity the knowledge of good and evil, after all.

“What was that about Gandhi, dear?” Aziraphale asks as he rounds the corner. “I didn’t quite catch —“

Aziraphale is struck speechless, much to his chagrin. Crowley’s tweed jacket has been discarded over a nearby chair, and his trademark boneless sprawl is nothing new. But his feet are propped on the edge of the couch; and right there, wrapped around his ankles, is unmistakably and unequivocally his tartan.

“Didn’t quite catch what?” Crowley asks. Aziraphale locks eyes with him slowly, not sure what to say. Crowley, for his part, looks confused. He follows to where Aziraphale’s eyes had been, sees the cuff of his trousers has crept up just a tad. Aziraphale watches the realization dawn on those long-loved features. Watches the slow turn of Crowley’s eyes back to him.

“You’re wearing my tartan…”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“And…how long?”

“Don’t ask me that, angel—“

“How long?” It’s more forceful the second time, just a bit of heavenly presence behind it. Enough to make Crowley sit up and take notice, swinging his feet to the floor and tapping his heels nervously. Aziraphale isn’t sure Crowley even understands what he’s asking; not sure that he knows either. It’s not some big cosmic secret; they both know. They don’t speak about it, don’t observe it closely. Keep your distance and keep him safe; the mantra that plays in Aziraphale’s head, late at night when the shop is quiet and his only company is the old and dusty books.

Crowley avoids his eyes, wrings his hands together as he stares at the floor. The air between them is thick and heavy, though with what, Aziraphale isn’t sure yet. Crowley’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly; Aziraphale balls his hands into fists at his sides. Well-manicured nails digging into his palms, grounding him into the moment. Crowley scratches his beard, runs that same hand up through his hair before sighing heavily.

“Don’t remember a time when I didn’t.” He finally says, his voice cracking, his eyes finally meeting Aziraphale’s.

The moment stretches between them, thick like treacle. Aziraphale can’t give in now; not when they have so much to lose, not when what’s at stake is everything. What would it gain them if they fail? A few happy years and a bit of distraction before their weapons are at each other’s throats? Just two unwilling soldiers on either side of a war they didn’t want, on the battlefield that was once their home.

But then, what if? What if, in this short stretch of time before everything potentially goes to Hell (literally), they could lean on each other? It wouldn’t be much, but it would be theirs. But what’s the point if it could be painful later?

Before Aziraphale can break his thoughts to respond, Crowley stands and crosses over to him, takes the wine bottle from his shaking grip, and sets it aside.

“Look, angel, we can forget this. I’ll go back to my flat, we’ll call it a night - pretend this conversation didn’t happen.”

Crowley is standing so close to him, less than a foot away even though it feels like miles and Aziraphale doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want to forget about this. He doesn’t want to run anymore and he realizes, with solid clarity and conviction, that the reason for anything — the reason they should stop running and be happy now — is precisely because things could be painful later.

“Don’t!” Aziraphale reaches out and grabs Crowley’s sleeve as he turns away, freezing the both of them in the moment. Amber eyes meet his, searching for answers that Aziraphale doesn’t have. He’s on the wrong foot, out of his element with no idea where to go next. There isn’t a precedence for any of this, there never has been. Not for an angel’s love —singular, not plural— pent up for centuries with nowhere to go. An angel’s love is meant to be all-encompassing, of everything that exists in all of the world, not like this. Not with a single focus point. Not with only one star pulling that love into an orbit that is nigh inescapable.

What even happens now? Aziraphale doesn’t know. But he lets his instincts take over, lets this far too human need that has consumed him since a cold and dreary day in a park in 1862 take the lead. Lets the sense of dread melt away from him, lets it be replaced by anticipation instead as he threads his fingers through Crowley’s. They fit together perfectly and his heart jumps into his throat.

“Aziraphale…” His name in Crowley’s mouth is a question, one that Crowley has been asking for longer than Aziraphale has ever wanted to admit.

“Don’t go, please, I…” Aziraphale’s words fail him. How does one say something that has been left unsaid for so long? How does one give voice to that? Tears sting at the corner of his eyes as he grips Crowley’s hand tighter.

There’s the soft caress of a thumb on his cheek, lightly brushing away those tears. A calming voice whispering comfort as he’s pulled into arms that are so familiar to him in every way except for this . They’ve never held hands before, never held one another like this, and yet it feels so right and so familiar. It feels like coming home.

Crowley holds him close, lets him cry; stays steadfast as Aziraphale crumbles, rubbing circles into his back. Comforting him, of all things. Shakily, Aziraphale wraps his arms around Crowley’s thin frame, finally knowing what it’s like to have the one he loves most in his arms. It starts his tears falling anew, knowing that he’ll never be able to go back. They’ve crossed a line, and neither of them can turn away from it any longer.

“S’alright, angel,” Crowley whispers softly on a cracked voice, “S’gonna be alright.” It’s only now that Aziraphale realizes Crowley is crying, too. He squeezes the demon tighter, nuzzles his face into his neck, marveling at how Crowley’s sharp angels compliment his own soft curves. How they fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle, two halves of one soul, like the old philosophers used to say.

They stay like this, for hours or minutes Aziraphale can’t say. All he can do is stand here, breathing in the faint hint of brimstone that lingers on Crowley’s skin, feeling the rise and fall of Crowley’s breathing. He’s never been held like this, never held anyone like this. He’s seen the humans do it, of course. Watched Adam wrap his arms around Eve to offer comfort in the unyielding wilderness, watched as Yeshua’s mother wept openly in Mary Magdalene’s arms. All through the millennia, he’s watched as humans have touched each other, have been vulnerable with each other in the hope of just some simple comfort in life. It’s different for them, when life is so fleeting and so short. Where love is not just something to want, it’s something needed from the moment they are born until the last breath that they take. When time is so short, so ephemeral, it’s impossible to face it alone.

Time has never been short or fleeting, not for him or for Crowley. The wide expanse of forever has always stretched out in front of them, just as the wide expanse of before stretches behind. Both of them older than the universe itself, architects in the crew of God’s creation. When you cannot truly be killed by mortal means, it’s easy to forget that an end is planned. There’s all the time in the world. Wait for me, go a little slower, we’ll get there.

There is no time now, four years at best if their plan doesn’t work, and Aziraphale can feel the crushing weight of mortality now. He wonders how the humans have ever survived underneath it.

But for now, there are thin fingers carding through Aziraphale’s pale curls, whispering words of comfort. There’s a warm hand on the small of his back, tracing circles with a thumb. The gentleness and softness of the actions make his chest hurt and he wonders if this is what the humans call “heartbreak”. He pulls back reluctantly, needing to see Crowley’s face, needing to read the emotions there.

He swipes a calloused thumb across Crowley’s cheek, collecting a stray tear that’s lingering there. Just this once, just for now, he lets himself get lost in Crowley’s eyes. Yellow like molten gold, glowing in the relative darkness, brighter than the candles. Aziraphale lets his hand rest on Crowley’s cheek, taking in the surprising softness of the beard he’s been sporting these last few months. Crowley leans into it, eyes searching Aziraphale’s own as he turns slowly —every so slowly—and places a soft kiss to Aziraphale’s palm.

Nothing has ever felt like this, so simple and gentle of a gesture, and yet the maelstrom it causes within Aziraphale could destroy an entire coastal city if he let it. This flood of love and acceptance and belonging, this overwhelming feeling of yes, you, you are the one I should be running to, that I should be going through this life with. It’s always been you how could I have ever pushed you away?

And so Aziraphale doesn’t push him away; resolves to never do so again. Instead, he lets his hand drift along Crowley’s jawline, around to the back of his head. Lets his fingers finally, after so long spent wondering, learn just how soft Crowley’s hair is. He pulls, Crowley comes willingly to meet him halfway, and for the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale kisses him.

It’s almost anticlimactic in its simplicity. A gentle brush of lips, an intimate touch reserved for humans and not for them. The heavens don’t shake, lightning doesn’t strike them down, God herself does not descend in a glorious cacophony of trumpets to cast him into the pit. It’s just him and Crowley, standing in the bookshop, with their lips and hearts and souls pressed to one another. Content and calm in this human-bound method of affection, this gentleness.

They break apart slowly, as if moving through a fog. Aziraphale lets his eyes fall open, sees Crowley’s still closed, a small and quiet smile quirking up the corners of his lips. It’s unbearably tender, and Aziraphale wants nothing more than to hold him until the sun burns out. Crowley opens his eyes slowly, meets Aziraphale’s gaze. The small and quiet smile spreads, breaking across his face like dawn light.

“I do hope that was alright, my dear,” Aziraphale whispers into the fading darkness of the room, afraid to speak too loudly, to break this spell that’s between them right now. Crowley still holds him tight, like he’s something precious or worthy.

“Angel, I…” Crowley’s voice trails off, no longer more than a string of consonants with no vowels to hold them together. Like too many things are trying to rush out of his mouth at the same time and none of them make sense. Aziraphale just waits, lets Crowley hold him, lets him find his words until he finally lands on three.

Three words, spoken softly and nervously on shaky breath. Spoken in such a way that hints a gearing for rejection; at waiting for the penny to drop. At an expectation of once again being let down, of being too much.

Aziraphale smiles at him, tangles his fingers through Crowley’s hair, feeling the short strands slide smoothly through them. He says three words back. Crowley leans in, and their lips meet again. More insistent this time, more sure of themselves. It feels right, kissing Crowley. Feels like they were meant to fit together this way, like his lips have been waiting countless lifetimes to know the shape of Crowley’s lips.

There will be time for talk later, time for confessions and promises. For apologies and what-ifs. But for now, they sink to the sofa, wrapped in each other’s arms, and just for a moment in time, they are able to hold one another. To forget about what’s coming and just exist and touch and kiss each other softly like the humans do.

[5lazarus]

Anders in Autumn, Ch. 11

inspired by @cozy-autumn-prompts, number 11, hay ride. it was really that prompt that prompted the whole plot. I can extrapolate wildly! Check it out on AO3 here!

The elf has the blade of her staff right at Varric’s throat. Varric, of course, has his finger on Bianca’s trigger. Merrill looks absolutely despairing. Lavellan is staring at her, not the dwarf, and she does not look pleased. Her lip curls into a sneer, and the temperature rises uncomfortably hot for such a cool evening. Anders shifts. She must be a fire mage. “Varric,” Fenris warns, “put your crossbow down.” “Her first,” Varric says, not moving an inch. Merrill begins backing towards the door. “You good, Daisy?” “Oh, Merrill is always fine,” Lavellan sneers. “Clan Sabrae’s runaway First always comes away her hands clean, doesn’t she? Tell me, child, does the alienage hahren know you consort with the likes of him?” She jerks her chin at Varric. “She let you do the burial. You’ve dishonored the dead.” “I didn’t tell anyone anything,” Merrill protests. “Stop patronizing me! I’m barely younger than you, Imladris Ashallin. You have no right--” “I have every right,” Imladris snaps, “Marethari is dead because of you! And you’ve wiggled your way into the Kirkwall alienage. You should face the consequences of your disgrace.”

Anders raises his hands. He is beginning to sense he is losing track of the plot. First Fenris in his bed, well, sitting on his bed, then the grief and mess of Kirkwall and surviving, and he’s killed a guard, at least he did it with a sword, and now even more mess: it has been a long fucking night. Before he can open his mouth, though, Varric snorts. “Don’t you elves ever play nice?” he says. “I’m not here for your man. Not yet, anyway. The Merchants’ Guild doesn’t know his name. Yet. Put your weapon down.” The Dalish woman twists the grip of her staff, and Anders has had enough. He steps in. “This is a clinic,” he snaps. Justice is pushing behind his eyes, and lending his voice a reverberation. “No fighting. Both of you, calm down. I’m not having more bloodshed today, I’ve had enough.” Varric sighs. “Bad choice in friends, Blondie.” He lowers Bianca and steps back. Lavellan shifts her stance, but Anders can feel her twisting at the ambient magic in the room. Merrill is staring at from the other end of the room. His patients are beginning to stir. It isn’t right, they’ve been through enough, and he’s not having whatever Merrill’s made wreck through his shop. “I don’t even know who these people are,” Anders lies. He knows that they are agitators from Clan Lavellan from Wycombe, that they are Fenris’ friends, that, for the moment, they are his too--comrades, more than Varric is. “You know more than me.” Maybe Varric will volunteer information. He is feeling very clever. Varric eyes him: less clever than he thinks. He tries to deflect, a classic strategy he would employ in the Circle. It was always fun to mess with the aequitarians and the traditionalists; maybe that was why they all hated him. “Maybe Merrill can help.” “Yes,” Fenris says darkly. “Perhaps she can shed some light on the matter.” He is angry, vibrating with tension, and Anders leans into his heat. The elf has not reached for his sword once. “I didn’t sell you out,” Merrill snaps. “I never did. Just because I don’t want to get involved in your--machineering, doesn’t make me a traitor. I serve the People in my own way. And Marethari’s death was not my fault. The demon had taken her. It didn’t take me.” Anders is irritated. Merrill had woken the demon from the Sundermount, she had brokered the deal, and she had exposed her entire clan to its influence, and everyone knew the elves were more susceptible to the temptations of the Fade--though that is what the Circle taught, and really the elvhen mages passed the Harrowing as often as the human mages, so perhaps that wasn’t fair, even though they didn’t have the training to understand demons as Andraste taught, breaking down into the seven sins, but then again Audacity was beyond that, and old, old as Arlathan itself, and--he blinked. Justice said, pay attention. Dirthara ma, lethallin, suledin. Fenris let loose a huff of air through his nose, like an angry horse. “We don’t have time for this. Varric, why are you here? What did you say about the Guild?” Varric said, “When this is all over, you and I need to have a long talk about how you treat your friends. Especially when your friends disagree. If Hawke can deal with you and Blondie and Sebastian and Merrill and Aveline--really, take a page from Hawke’s book. They manage to get everyone to get along. You can try, you know. Communicate. Talk to me, Broody. And not just at poker night.” Fenris says, “Varric--don’t prevaricate. You came here for a reason. What is it?” Motion distracts Anders from their conversation. The Lavellan woman is inching closer to her husband. She wakes him gently, and there is a softness in her gaze that wrenches at his heart. He tastes envy, metallic on his tongue, as the man wakes up and reaches a weak hand to stroke her face. She clutches it to her, and he thinks, no one’s ever looked at me like that. Anders looks at Fenris and bites his lip nervously. There is nothing to expect. It would be wrong to expect anything, in times like these. “You four killed a guard,” Varric says. “And, listen. I don’t care about the guards. I’m happy to keep them off my back. And half the time they’re more trouble than they’re worth. But you chose exactly the worst time to kill one, and the Merchants’ Guild is talking about justice for the family.” Anders snorts. “Well, she was supporting a family.” “Supporting them by extorting local residents and beating strikers to death, but okay,” Anders says. Varric glares at him. “Moving on, the Merchants’ Guild promised justice to the family. Easiest and least controversial way to kill the agitators. No one likes a guard-killer, makes you all look bad.” “Except, of course, it’s okay when the guards are letting the magistrate’s son kill little kids,” Anders says, “or kill mages rather than send them to the templars. Or sell people to the Blind Men. Guard-killers, that’s what makes us look bad. Right.” Varric says, “I’m trying to give you a warning, alright? Get out of town. Ran into Daisy on my way here--apparently she’s heard similar. Someone in the alienage sold the Lavellans out, said they were here. So you guys need to get out of town for awhile. Especially you, Blondie. Smart that you killed her with a sword, but there’s only so many blond Fereldens running around Darktown. I’ve arranged you a way out.” Anders said wildly, “What about my patients? What about the strikers?” He saw Lavellan looking at them, supporting her man as he tried to climb out of bed. He was nowhere near well enough to be on his feet yet, not with the bash he got to the head. Anders hurried over and took his other arm, and settled him in a chair. What had Fenris said his name was? Mahanon. Perhaps it was better he didn’t remember. He stared at Varric. “What about them? I won’t abandon my patient, Varric. That’s got to be a ticket out for three.” “Four,” Fenris said. Varric raised an eyebrow. “I’m coming with you.” Anders blushes slightly. He wants him to come, of course he does, because Fenris is reliable in a fight. He knows these two elves. He knows the Free Marches better than him, too, since he had spent a few years in hiding before settling in Kirkwall. He doesn’t want to leave his clinic, though. He doesn’t want to abandon the Mage Underground, his friends locked in the Gallows. Meredith is planning something evil, she always is, and justice must return to Kirkwall, he cannot flee-- Lavellan says, “Stop.” She looks at the dwarf. “What will happen to the dockworkers?” Varric passes a hand through his hair. “The less I talk to you, the better,” he says. “I don’t want to remember you. I don’t want to know you. And you don’t want to know--well, we’ll reach some sort of settlement. Those ships need to move. And dead workers can’t load ships.” “How long do I need to be gone?” Anders says, heart sinking. This is where he belongs. This is where the work must be done. Bethany is expecting him to shepherd two apprentices through the sewers and hand them off to Samson, who will escort them to Rivain. Samson liked mages, and used to pass along messages for Karl before his friend was tranquilized, and would do anything for enough lyrium. “Give me a month to clean things up,” Varric says. “But you need to be gone before dawn.” He gestures to the door. “A farmer’s taking hay as far as the Sundermount. From there, you’re on your own. But you better act fast--before someone robs him of his horse.” Anders gestures at Merrill to follow him as he hurries into his bedroom, packing quickly. He stashes his few favorite things--the shawl Mahariel made him, his journal, his cracked phylactery, and that small embroidered pillow his mother sewed him, a lifetime ago. Hurriedly he informs her rapidfire about Messere Pounce-the-Second’s peculiar diet, what Bethany needs for the drop, and how to handle Samson when he’s in withdrawal. “You’re involved now,” he says. “Congratulations. No more excuses for complacency apparently, according to Lavellan.” “Imladris Ashallin is just like you,” Merrill says angrily. “Both of you expect everyone to throw away all their life’s work and dreams and passion for some abstract dream of justice. Just because you can do it doesn’t mean I can. Or that I want to. I serve the People in my own way--mages too, you know. Not everyone can do what you do.” “But you’ll do it,” Anders presses. “For Bethany, if not for me. Meredith’ll have them made Tranquil--and they’re children, Merrill. Do you want more blood on your hands? You’re complicit in this, we all are. We apostates have an obligation to those who are stuck in the Circle. What do you think they’d do to you, if they caught you? Wouldn’t you want someone on the outside, working to get you out?” Merrill makes a face. “I’ll do it for Messere Pounce,” she says. “Don’t tell Hawke. Please. They don’t--I don’t know what they’d do, if they knew how bad things were in the Gallows.” Anders grabs his bag. “Just remember--two scoops of the pumpkin, and make sure he doesn’t get into the cheese, it makes him sick. And he’s allergic to sardines!” Outside, in the cold predawn light,  is a horse and cart. The cart is loaded with bales of hay. He looks at it distastefully. He can already feel himself itching. They make a space for the four of them to curl up together, and then cover them again with hay. When he moves to sneeze, Fenris pinches his nose and he chokes on a giggle. Imladris has Mahanon’s head resting in her arms, and she scratches a cooling sigil into the wooden floor of the cart. It only makes it marginally better as the driver sets off. They jostle uncomfortably against each other as they drive into the sunset. It is not the most uncomfortable way Anders has escaped a city, but it is definitely the itchiest. He tries to say something to Fenris, an apology or a jeer, but Fenris just leaves his hand resting at his jaw and presses against him. That too is uncomfortable. The cart rattles on a particularly rough part of cobblestone, and Fenris snakes a hand around his waist to keep himself from being thrown against the cart. Anders leans against him with bated breath. It is suffocating in the cart, and he is afraid. Mahanon’s breathing is not as even as it should be. Fenris has also obviously eaten something garlicky the night before. He tries not to think too much about proximity. Instead, he worries about Merrill, and the mages, and his cat. He decides he will think about his cat, because that’s better than thinking about the alternative. An eternity passes as Anders listens to the rattle and jostle of cart over cobble transition to the paved road leading towards Ostwick. Then they are all nearly thrown out as it takes a sharp left and begins to escalate: the driver must be taking them in the Sundermount. He focuses on his breathing, on the mana thrumming in the people around him and the landscape unfolding him, and sinks into the wonder of it. The Dalish mage is all tightly controlled heat, like a planned burn on a field. She reminds him of a story Mahariel told him, about the Burning Man she met in the Fade at Kinloch Hold. Her husband, Mahanon, is less vibrant of course--he isn’t a mage--but all living things except dwarves exude some mana. When he closes his eyes he can see Fenris tattooed to the back of him. Danarius’s magic moves around his body, in those lyrium brands. Horrible, horrible, he thinks: Danarius should’ve died worse, we let Fenris go too easy on him. Finally the cart stops. They all tense. Fenris’ hand moves from his waist to his short sword, and Anders concentrates to bring  a quick mana blast. If he hits whoever’s inspecting them hard enough they’ll be stunned enough for the rest to run for it. Then a Ferelden-accented voice says, “Easy, mages. Just give me a bit to unload this. You’re in friendly hands now.” They push the bales off and blink into a beautifully clear autumn morning. Anders recognizes the small homestead they are parked at--friends of Hawke through Athenril. He breathes in that wonderfully sharp, woodsy air as they lurch out of the cart. He turns to help Imladris get Mahanon out, but Fenris is already half-carrying him. Anders hurries over, hands glowing. Mahanon gives him a weak smile and pushes him away. “Well,” the Ferelden smuggler says, “that’s you sorted. Dwarf says I don’t get paid ‘til you come home safe, so--farm’s yours for the month. But you’ll work for your keep. I need extra if there are templars involved.” The farmhouse is cute and clean, surprisingly prosperous for a Ferelden’s homestead--but of course Varric is paying him to hide whomever. He wonders if this is where Varrics disappear sometimes. Isabela has a theory Varric has a lover, probably named Bianca, and Merrill thinks it’s forbidden love, that she is a human noble or an Orlesian bard or something exciting. Anders really does not care. They settle Mahanon into a bed, and Anders changes his bandages. The cuts have scabbed over, but his ribs are still purpled and he cannot move particularly well. He leaves his patient to the tender care of his wife, and then collapses into the plush armchair by the fireplace. Fenris follows, and Anders reaches for him, exhausted. Fenris takes his hand and squeezes it. He meets their gaze and Anders sees an naked vulnerability there as exhaustion forces him to drop his usual guarded expression. For once Anders holds his tongue. Anders squeezes his hand back, and Fenris pulls away, and as he falls asleep he feels a blanket being draped around him. When he wakes up he finds his shawl tucked around him and his boots off: Fenris, and what has he done to deserve this sort of tenderness?

[wylanvnneck]

Rating: T for Tyrannosaurus

Summary: Simon is a Shadowhunter and Baz is a vampire, the Head of the Watford vampire clan, strange things are taking place in Watford and something needs to be done about it.

Originally a short one shot in this AU written for the Carry On Countdown, but thanks to a surprising demand for more via AO3 and Tumblr is now a multi-chap, hopefully, you’ll join me for the ride.

On AO3 | Masterlist | Previous Chapter

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Chapter 2

Simon is barely conscious of his actions as he slams open the abandoned castle door of the Watford Institute. The old stone walls of the building echo with the force of it and yet Simon is too busy recalling a pair of pitch black eyes to notice.

He trudges through the dimly lit corridors, ascending the wide wooden staircase, with one destination in mind; the training room on the second floor.

But first, he had to report back to the Mage.

That wasn’t the Mage’s real name of course, but it was the one that everyone knew him by. There were rumours that his true title was ‘Davy’ but Simon couldn’t resign that name with the enigmatic and powerful figure that the Mage represented. To him, the Mage was all-knowing, omnipotent and above all, his guardian, the Institute Head who’d provided a home for an abandoned orphan boy.

Said omnipotent, all knowing Institute Head was blinking up at him owlishly from behind his mahogany desk, his attention diverted from the tremendous tome which he’d been perusing before his charge had stormed in like an agitated werewolf.

“Simon. Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing sir. I’m just reporting back after that vampire assignment you gave me.” Although his tone was as polite as usual, there’s an undercurrent to his words that spoke of his displeasure at having been assigned that particular task.

“Ah, yes. I trust everything went well?’

“Absolutely swell,”  He hoped the sarcasm wasn’t too apparent.

“Right…” the Mage was eyeing him curiously, head tilted to the side, probably trying to ascertain his mood before seeming to let it go. “Well then, run along and do what you will, you’re off duty for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you sir.”

The training room was the perfect place to vent his feelings. The burn in his biceps as he swings from bar to bar is a welcoming distraction from the turmoil of his thoughts. Thoughts which seemed to consist mostly of blood red cocktails, a pair of fangs and a tailored suit with a floral pattern. It seemed ridiculous that one infuriating blood sucker could push him so off balance, but there he was, so completely off-kilter.

That arrogant vampire. Baz, his brain reminded him. Well Baz could go to hell. How dare he make such insinuations about Shadowhunters? 

The Nephilim were what glued the supernatural community together. They were the overseers, the protectors. Without them the Magickal society would fall to pieces.

Why was this encounter bothering him so much?

He was used to Downworlder scorn, used to things like angry Warlocks knocking on the Institute’s door demanding that they be allowed to sell their services to mortals, services that would end in disaster if allowed. He’d never once before questioned the rules governing the other supernatural species, never once hesitated to tell an ambitious Downworlder ‘No’ and yet…

He jumps down from the bar he’d been hanging from, landing effortlessly on his feet. The tough leathery punching bag close by proves to be a good victim to take his frustrations out on.

Expensive cologne. A punch from the left.

Stupid not-even-truly-British accents. A punishing right hook.

A condescending smile framed by sculpted lips. A vicious roundhouse kick.

He hated this.

He needed someone to talk to. He needed Penelope.

He pulls away from the quivering bag and heads to the benches to swipe a wet towel over his sweaty face before hanging it around his neck as he squirts water onto his parched tongue. Merlin, for exactly how long had he been training?

The secret mundane phone that he kept back on the table in his room told him that the time was currently 4.00 am in the morning, meaning he’d been training for a cool two hours at a stretch after having gotten back from the revel at around 2.00. Wonderful. 

Even better, he had training with Agatha in four short hours. Well, he’d better get what sleep he could.

He swipes open his lockscreen before typing a quick message to his Parabatai.

Vampires are terrible. Yes, I know, they rarely suck on human blood and when they do it’s not always harmful but Crowley, Penny you haven’t met the Head Vampire of the Watford Clan. He’s a bloody arsehole. 

Having delivered that missive he heads off to get ready for bed.

Agatha is a lot less enthusiastic than usual at training this morning and that’s really saying something as she was never really all that enthusiastic to begin with. In fact, if Simon didn’t know any better he’d think that she resented being a Shadowhunter. Impossible. Being Nephilim was an honour.

“Simon! Stop attacking me with that thing.”

Simon had barely been moving his practice blade and yet Agatha seemed to think the false blade posed enough of a threat.

He just barely suppresses a long-suffering sigh. “Agatha, that’s the whole point of training. We pretend to attack each other so we’ll be prepared for actual attacks.”

“I really don’t see the point of training for an attack. Nothing fun ever happens around here anyways.”

Nothing fun. As if fights and wars and people being injured was fun. Biting back a retort he simply says, “Still, it’s always a good idea to be prepared.”

“Oh very well.” With a long suffering sigh of her own she finally raises her blade in an half-hearted attempt to parry him.

Practice goes worse than usual, but Simon’s day had been off even before then, he’d woken up to no messages from Penny who was usually up at the crack of dawn but he’d chalked it down to possible exhaustion from travelling. Not that she’d really gone all that far either. It felt weird to not have her frizzy haired self nearby. They’d been almost inseparable since even before they were twelve, when it had become time for him to decide who he’d have as a parabatai, Simon didn’t even have to think twice before deciding on Penny.

She was a force of nature and a constant presence; always there, always dependable. She also had a penchant for reading him way too easily.

He doesn’t truly start panicking however, he’s willing to give her silence the benefit of the doubt at least for the moment, after all, his parabatai rune wasn’t giving off any odd signals. 

Then, the phone call happened.

 Professor Bunce sounds hurried and displeased. “Simon, can you please remind Penelope to not forget to bring an extra pillow and bedsheet with her when she gets here and do tell her to answer my calls.” 

“Professor Bunce,” the panic is rising in his voice, he can almost taste it, like bile traveling up his throat. “Penelope left for home yesterday. She should have been there by now.”

There’s a long pause. So long that Simon has to pinch himself to make sure that this is indeed reality. 

“Simon, what are you saying? Surely you know where my daughter is.”

“No, Professor.” His voice is cracked. “I don’t.”

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Stay tuned for chapter 3, I’ll try to get it up soon but I make no promises🌺

Tagging some of the lovely people who are the reason why this exists: @eviegalois​ and @sourcherrysconess​

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