#arc 1: rain and downpour

[eden031]

First meetings

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Pairing: Jack Abbot x intern!f!reader

Warnings: fluff, kissing, confession of feelings (?), literal sleeping together, implied nudity, reader wears Jack‘s clothes, implied sexual content (between other characters)

Summary: Somtimes confessions don‘t happen in a grandiose way, sometimes they happen over a shared breakfast.

A/N: Sooo, this part will start the last arc of the story I guess? I kind of got attatched to this story and my narration of it, but it feels like I should be ending it within the next two or three parts (which one of them will probably be just smut I have decided), there are still many more ideas I have reagarding Jack Abbot so, even when this will be done there will be more Jack Abbot content coming from this little corner of the internet. The second part of „Sweet boy“ is in the works at the moment and another Jack Abbot idea is growing in my mind even though I am not sure how far I will take that. I still hope you will enjoy this part of the story, it is a lot lighter than the last ones. Lots of love <3

Being back at work had been hard at first. Sometimes it felt like there was this weight trying to crush her, like it was suffocating her. The memory of the hand wrapped around her throat sometimes came back at unexpected times, hitting harder on some occasions than others. Still there was the ever present comfort of Jack lingering close to her, sometimes it was just a gentle squeeze of reassurance, other times it was a hug that lasted longer than it probably should in the quiet of the breakroom. He was there, always the quiet comfort when she needed it the most, but he never came too close, never let her be part of his thoughts. It was like he was worried that if he said too much there would be no going back. Though she knew that he knew that going back had not been an option since the moment they had met.

Standing under the roof of the PTMC she sighed. The downpour had started almost half way through the shift and had not gotten any less. The drainage system had trouble keeping up with the amount of rain coming from the sky and even people with an umbrella looked to be drenched to the bone. It made her feel a certain melancholy. Days like these somehow reminded her of her time in college, when she would run through the rain with her friends, laughing and joking. Even if it had not been that long ago it felt like she had gotten much older in that time, like something had started to weigh her down. Glancing at her phone she saw a new message from Tommy, hoping that it was something along the lines of ‘I’m coming to pick you up’, her car was in the workshop and she had walked to work that morning, taking a lesson out of Jack’s book, though now she regretted it. Opening the phone, a silent groan left her lips as she read the actual text. Mild annoyance started to seep through her mind.

Masie is not feeling well. Could you maybe manage to eat breakfast somewhere else for an hour or two before coming home?

Rolling her eyes she simply sends a thumbs up emoji. This just translated to ‘Masie and I want to have some alone time, could you maybe stay away from the apartment for another hour or two?’ At this point she was seriously considering moving into a new place, not because she didn’t enjoy living with Tommy and Masie, but because she often felt like an intruder in their relationship. Maybe also a bit because it started annoying her when all she wanted to do was go home and sleep and he and Masie would tell her that they were in the middle of something. It had also happened on multiple occasions that she had walked in on them, not something that she wanted to repeat, but apparently she had some talent to always come home when they were in the middle of it.

“Waiting for someone?” the low voice of Jack came from right beside her. He was standing there, even in this cold and miserable weather with only a thin sweater jacket thrown over his scrubs, arms crossed over his chest. For a moment she frowned, but then thought about the fact that the man was practically a walking radiator and never seemed to freeze.

“No, just thinking about where to head off to,” she muttered under her breath as she mentally cursed Tommy and Masie for not being able to wait with their shenanigans until she was dead asleep.

“Huh?” Jack gave her a mildly confused glance. Brows furrowed as he looked at her with a certain glint of concern in his eyes. It dawned on her that it probably sounded like she had nowhere to go. Shaking her head quickly she elaborated.

“I am temporarily banned from entering the apartment,” she paused, having to suppress a laugh as she shook her head, “Masie and Tommy wanted some alone time,” she put alone time in quotation marks with her fingers. Jack snorted and nodded.

“You want breakfast?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. Nodding slowly she was not sure where this conversation was going.

“Honestly? I would kill for breakfast and a bed,” she sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “And probably a hot shower,”

A soft laugh came from the man standing beside her, glancing over at him she saw that he was already looking at her, his hazel eyes softer than they usually were. The butterflies in her stomach had dissipated over time, though they had been replaced by this warm and fuzzy feeling that settled over her mind every time he looked at her like that. Like all he wanted to do was hold her and protect her.

It had set something free in her mind, that look he started giving her. Those eyes, those looks fuelled her fantasies in both her dreams and waking moments.

“If you want to you could come to my place, there all three are freely available,” he gave her a look again, this time it was more hopeful than the one before, there was more to the question than just him offering his hospitality, there was the underlying question of how far she was willing to go.

“You are an angel, Dr. Abbot “ her tone was slightly teasing as she called him Dr. Abbot, though she knew that he would not be too mad about it. A soft snort came from him as he smiled at her.

“I definitely am not, but that sounds like a yes,” he titled his head in the direction she knew his apartment was in. “I think we should get going before you fall asleep standing,” he teased softly. She nodded, bracing herself to get drenched to the bone, because she had of course forgotten to take her umbrella and her jacket was not waterproof.

Both of them were drenched to the bone the moment they entered his apartment. Her scrubs clung to her body like a second skin and she could feel the water in her shoes. Shuddering slightly she pulled off her jacket. There was little relief against the wetness clinging to her body. Jack had done the same and simply dropped the wet jacket in the basket standing by the door.

“Just throw everything in there, I am going to run a load of laundry,” he muttered as he sat down on the small stool in the hallway. Toeing off her shoes she shuddered, the cold rain was not doing anything for the exhaustion and she felt like she might just collapse. Quickly she pulled off her socks, now standing barefoot in the hallway, throwing them into the basket she moved around slightly, trying to see how wet they were. A sigh left her lips as she saw that she was leaving wet footprints on the floor.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered as she opened her backpack, checking to see if its contents were as wet as the rest of her.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Jack sounded as tired as she felt, hearing shuffling she let out a soft groan as she saw the contents of her backpack. To her dismay everything in there was wet as well, the worst thing about that being that it meant that her change of clothes was dripping as she pulled it out of the backpack.

“Just put that in the basket as well, I am going to get you something dry,” Jack muttered as he pulled off the prosthetic, a groan escaping his lips as he placed it by the shoe rag. The crutches were standing beside him as she continued to peel off the scrubs. She knew that it was a general rule in the houses of most healthcare workers to take off the scrubs before doing anything else. The scrub shirt was like a blobfish as she threw it in the basket as well, the long sleeved shirt underneath was just as wet as everything else, though it was not dripping, which was good. She heard rustling coming from beside her, though she was too busy with her wet clothes and the disgusting feeling of her wet scrub pants to look. Quickly she shimmied out of her pants and a sigh of relief escaped her, she really hoped she wouldn’t get a UTI from this.

“You wanna go shower first?” she asked as she glanced to the side, seeing Jack sitting on the small stool, only in his boxers, his dog tags resting resting against his sternum. It was a sight to behold, his broad shoulders and the freckles that spattered his entire upper body. She had almost forgotten how magnificent the man looked under the scrubs.

“Nah, you shower first, then you don’t need to move around the shower chair,” he muttered as he turned around to grab one of the crutches. She swore that if she wasn’t as tired and exhausted she would be flustered about this situation. Peeling off the tight shirt she muttered a quiet thanks and headed towards the bathroom. It was strange, she knew exactly where all the rooms were, it was not her first time in this apartment, but still it felt like she had never been there before. Maybe it was because this time it was more domestic. Slipping out of her underwear she stepped into the shower, the hot water taking some of the stiffness out of her body. Even if she would have preferred to have a longer shower she knew that Jack also needed one. Stepping out of the shower she grabbed one of the clean towels in the cabinet, wrapping it securely around her.

A soft knock sounded from the door. She told him it was okay to open the door. Jack poked his head in, his salt and pepper curls sticking to his forehead from the rain, though his face looked a lot more relaxed than it usually did. For a moment she thought about what life would be like if it was always like this, if they would always come home from shifts together. Shaking her head she smiled at him.

“I put out some clothes on the bed for you. If you want to eat there is food in the fridge,” he spoke softly as she walked up to him, a small smile on her lips.

“Thanks,” she stopped right in front of him, his upper body and legs looked mostly dry, he had probably dried off a little so that he wouldn’t get too cold while waiting for her. She stood there for a moment, wanting to reach out and touch him. To run her hand through his hair and pull him in for a kiss. His breathing had become deeper as he looked at her, eyes flicking around. It was tentative, but he reached out, giving her time to draw away if she wanted, his touch was light as a feather as the tips of his fingers ghosted over the soft skin just over her collar bone. For a moment something came over his face, like he was debating something, then he drew away, sharp, quick, like her skin had burned him.

“I think I am going to let you shower in peace,” she spoke softly, carefully trying to squeeze past him, a shiver ran down her spine as his hand accidentally brushed over her thigh. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she quickly hurried away from the bathroom, only hearing the door to the bathroom closing just as she entered the bedroom.

He had put out a very new looking pair of boxers, sweatpants in a light gray that looked like they had seen better days, the cuffs of the pants frayed slightly and an old worn out hoodie that smelled like him, it must have been black at some point, but it looked more grey than black, but it was comfortable. Padding towards the kitchen she rummaged through the fridge, trying to find what she was looking for.

Humming softly to herself she fished out the pieces of toast from the toaster, spreading some butter on all of them, then putting cheese on them. The scrambled eggs sizzling in the pan filled the kitchen with a great smell. She had filled up two glasses with water, she knew that neither of them wanted to drink coffee now, not if they wanted to sleep soon. The quiet clanking of crutches made her turn her head to the side, a soft smile grew on her lips as she saw Jack standing in the doorway. Black shorts that hung loosely around his hips and a white t-shirt.

“Hey,” she spoke softly as she put some of the scrambled eggs on both of the plates. Carefully picking them up she turned to look at him. He was still standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her, there was this strange expression on his face, the kind of expression she usually only ever saw in the eyes of a lover in the ED. Gently placing the plates on the table she took a seat, that got Jack moving, he came over to her the table, taking the seat across from her. Staring at the food in front of him she swore she could see his eyes mist over.

“Thanks,” his voice was quiet as he picked up the slice of toast. Looking at him for a moment she could see the way his shoulders seemed to have sagged slightly, she was not sure if he was relaxed or if something was bothering him.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly, trying to keep herself from sounding too worried, but she knew that the worry was evident in her tone as she looked at him.

“Yeah, I just,” he paused, he looked like he was about to regret saying what he said then, “I just realised what I could have had a long time ago and what I missed out on,”

These words felt like someone knocked all the air out of her lungs, like the rope of tension between them finally snapped. Slowly she placed the fork down, the piece of scrambled egg still on it as she looked at him for a long moment. It felt like her brain was sizzling, like there was too much information to keep up with and it was about to shut down.

“Jack…” she breathed out, it felt strange calling him by his first name. He looked up at her, those hazel eyes as intense as they always were, they shone softly in the light of the kitchen, though there was a sadness behind them, a sadness she understood all too well.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, you know?” he sounded so regretful that it almost broke her heart. The usual intense eye contact wavered as he looked away from her while he spoke, like he was not sure if he should be saying these things.

“I really thought,” his voice became tight, she reached over the table, like he had done all those weeks ago when she needed comfort, though this was different, this was a quiet question. He stared at her hand like it was a sacred offering, hesitantly he reached over the table, his fingers brushing against the skin on her wrist. Gently wrapping his hand around hers, there was a certain reverence to it, a certain kind of care that he had only exuded a few times over the time they had known each other.

They finished eating breakfast in silence, their hands resting against each other. It felt like everything was spinning around her when she got up from where she was sitting, Jack still seated at the table, eyes fixed on her as she moved closer to him. Their hands stayed intertwined as she stopped right in front of him. He had to look up to be able to look at her properly, head leaned backwards as he licked his lips, eyes slightly glossed over, the bags underneath them deep. He was tired, so was she and maybe that was what caused her to move.

Gently with her free hand she cupped his cheek, the soft stubble prickling beneath her hand. He nuzzled his face in the palm of her hand, gently pressing a kiss to it, reverent like her hands were the ones of a goddess. It sent a wave of tingles up her arm and right towards her heart.

“You thought you did what was best,” she spoke softly, ending his statement from a few minutes ago, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. He hummed softly as he leaned into her touch again. They were both dead tired, the exhaustion wearing on them, she knew that otherwise they wouldn’t do this, not this openly at least.

“Yeah, and it came back to bite me in the ass,” he looked at her now, those hazel eyes burning with that fire that sent tingles down her spine, settling in her lower belly. Her breath became heavier, like she had to fight for every single bit of air.

“It certainly did,” she chuckled, a soft gasp escaping her as his free hand grasped her thigh, just below her ass, he pulled her in even closer than she had been before, standing right at the juncture between his legs. Slowly she leaned down, they were close, their breaths intermingling slightly as she stopped, their noses brushing as she looked at him. For a moment she hesitated, but before she could move he pushed forward, their lips connected. This was not the same as it had been when they had first kissed, this was not need driven. It was driven by longing and care, a certain desperation to be close to each other again. Their lips moved perfectly together, just like they had before, his lips were plush, but chapped, she could still taste the scrambled eggs on him, but there was more to him than that. There was the comfort, there was the warmth of him. The familiarity of his taste. As they pulled away he gently brushed his nose against hers, pressing a second, quicker kiss to her lips. This time she nuzzled her nose to his, a content sigh escaping her lips. It was almost like something had moved into place, like something finally aligned that had been out of order during the past.

“Let’s go to bed,” his voice was low and gravelly, as he looked at her. The burning in his eyes had not gone away, but they both knew that they were too tired, they needed to sleep. She knew that there was more that he would like to do, she did as well, but the tiredness was still at the forefront of their minds.

Letting Jack get up she began turning off the lights, slowly they moved into his bedroom, it took them about ten minutes to get settled, the soft blankets wrapped around them, black out curtains drawn closed. She was facing Jack, nuzzled close to him, head resting on the same pillow his head was resting on her forehead pressed against his neck, one arm supporting her own head, the other one pressed against her chest. Jack had wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. the other one was curled under his head. They both knew that they would not be staying like this for the rest of the morning, but right now this felt right. She could hear the steady beating of his heart as she slowly began to drift off to sleep, his hand drawing a soothing pattern on her back. Safely cocooned up with him she knew that no one could hurt her here, not if he was with her.

——————-

Tags:

@antisocialfiore @fudosl @smileykiddie08 @darksparklesficrecs @tommosgirl06 @rosieposie88 @moonshooter @wowitsafemale

[slowd1ving]

Hey I could request for a Daniel Park who has a crush on Male! Reader ( fluff please )

27,000 WON ゜・DANIEL PARK

Armed with nothing but a headache and the fit of a wayward uncle, it's perhaps not your proudest moment. But it's a moment nonetheless: one the cashier in this stupid convenience store locks away in his pounding heart. aka first meetings with this guy /// anon this is more crack than fluff I'm sorry ..my idea of fluff is getting a free umbrella from a fumbling cashier because it's raining, I swear it sounded better and fluffier planned pairing: daniel park + male student reader warnings: mentions of alcohol, convenience store weirdo #1 + #2, tiny bit of violence, not a warning but shy daniel (in both bodies), more reader-centric than anything, pre training arc wc: 2.2k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Without an umbrella, Seoul was a miserable place tonight. Anyone else might’ve appreciated the dense shimmer of rain streaked neon with this fluorescent city, but your head throbbed miserably with the urban cacophony. Fuck. It was pointless stumbling out onto the grey asphalt when you were in such a shit mood. People swarmed and jostled, and you might’ve stepped on a foot or two as you leaned against the rough, corrugated shutters of a closed shop: barely holding on to both your sanity and your consciousness. 

Ironically, it was the detestable luminescent rods that saved you, beckoning your damp body towards a 24-hour convenience store. Warily, you peered at the cold lights—and they winked back. Winked, for their clinical flickering suggested sentience, or at least, some sort of quest window that was your beacon for safety from the downpour. 

Located on the very corner overlooking an alleyway, it really wasn’t very surprising that it was a magnet for trouble too—if you objectively looked back on the situation. Dark, dingy, smelly—all were generous, polite adjectives you’d use to describe the surroundings. 

You dodged the businessman puking up his guts on the off-white wall with a strained smile and a pained twitch in your eye. An abandoned soju bottle sloshed onto your shoes from his wobbling, and your day (night) became worse. Immediately. Biblically, your irritation surged to such unprecedented levels that he might’ve turned into a pillar of salt had you even an ounce of psychic talent.

Still, you stepped across the threshold smelling faintly of pollution and alcohol, but you were finally in one of Korea’s sanctuaries. Albeit soaked, shivering, and possibly seething with annoyance. The triple S threat of all bad days. 

“Shit,” you cursed as your phone rang in your pocket. Desperately juggling the two bottles of barley tea and a lychee ice cream onto the top of a freshly polished shelf, you scrambled for the device and swiped it multiple times with wet fingers. Stupid, stupid phone, you thought as it creaked in your incensed grasp. Answer the fucking call, damn it. 

The caller ID was as followed: stupid sod. The person on the other end? Well. 

“Where’d you go? The weather was supposed to be rainy all through the night, and you really went for a walk?” The voice on the other end of the line was just as irritating as ever. Nasally, too, like if a short dog suddenly started barking with a French accent. Your head throbbed just trying to imagine it, but you did suppose your younger sister was a migraine and a half. 

“Hungry,” you muttered. The brick-red plastic basket at the entrance clattered against the linoleum floor as you pulled it out single-handedly, but still you tried to keep your voice down during these witching hours. Those two barley teas bounced against crimson when you swiped the goods into your mode of carrying, and you thoughtfully threw two blue, cardboard packets of paracetamol into there too. Now, you were just missing some yellow to complete the haphazard primary colour wheel you cradled. 

“What? Can’t hear you.” Your eye twitched at her admission, and you just knew she was squinting at her phone with an open mouth as if she could simply inhale the frequencies instead. 

“—yeah I don’t have my ID, but you could let it slide, right?”

“Hungry,” you enunciated, clearly, for the dear sister struggling to hear a single word. “You happy? I’ll be back in twenty so just don’t burn the house down. And clean out your ears—I don’t want to give the poor guy working the graveyard shift a headache by talking loudly, especially since you’re a banshee on speaker.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed. “Get me those chips—those ketchup ones—and those peach candies. The knockoff ones, you know which ones.”

“With whose money? Get them yourself, you lazy bum,” you sighed exasperatedly. You were on, what, your last twenty thousand won? In this economy, too.  

“—what do you mean you can’t just let it slide? Hey! I look over 21, don’t I? C’mon man, don’t make this difficult.” There were snippets of conversation threading along into the spool of your own, and your eyes flicked upwards. One poor cashier in his green vest, hands clasped like God would possibly rescue him from this situation if he was pious enough. The other had an obnoxiously fake leather jacket draped over him—a wannabe thug if you ever saw one. 

“I sent you some, you broke shit. Like, you literally have a job, so there’s no need to be so stingy. Get me some lemon tea too,” she groaned. Her syllables dragged out abrasively, but you were more focused on the conversation unfolding in reality rather than how much you hated her voice. 

“I’m sorry, I really—I legally can’t sell you these products if you don’t produce a valid ID.” The clerk had guts, you had to admit. His voice cracked just twice in his answer, and though he was about half the size of the guy blocking the lottery ticket view, his shaking fists clenched and unclenched. You liked the look in his eyes: determined to stand on principle, even if it was just to some guy high off a power trip. 

“Okay, sure. Uhh, I might be back in forty. I just need to do something.” Words, as fickle as they were, drifted into nothingness while your eyes communicated your intentions. It was a pity you didn’t want to see her irritating face—you would’ve pressed the video call on Kakaotalk just so she could get front row seats to a beatdown. To be clear, the harrasser’s beatdown, not the harrassee’s. 

“Hey. What’s that supposed to mean? Hyung? Fuck, not this— don’t you dare hang up, we’ve literally got our first day tom—”

“Gross.” You made a face as you finally pressed the red button; she should’ve known you’d simply leave the call sooner if she used that term. Cooties. Idiot cooties. Dropping the phone into your pocket and her cavity-inducing requests (plus some cup noodles for your grumbling stomach), you set the basket a safe distance away before eyeing the cashier. 

You were quite the expert in miming and clownish arts, if you said so yourself. His face turned everything from unsettled to confused to hesitant in the span of two and a half seconds: pointing first at yourself emphatically; then to the man’s back as he stood waving his arms about; and finally making a fist and clenching it, all to really emphasise your point. Me. Him. I punch. 

You don’t know if he took it as a joke. You hoped he didn’t, but his eyebrows crinkled and uncrinkled like he was trying to figure you out. 

However, he didn’t exactly have the luxury of piecing together the implications. Not when the man became dangerously more incensed as he was asked to leave, and certainly not when he was about to grab the poor employee’s vest with those nasty hands of his. 

Gross. 

There was no time to hesitate and plead the heavens for forgiveness. 

“Hey man, there’s no need to be a dick to workers,” you gritted out, gripping both his arms in an ironclad grip that miraculously relieved some of your tension headache. Like some damn stress ball, except this was not satisfying at all as you felt the hair on his forearms shift together. Ew. Ewww. 

“Who the fuck are you?” His words sounded garbled, temples throbbing while you glared down at him. Get out. It was enough of a pain to move fast, let alone come up with an answer that didn’t sound corny. In a soaked hoodie, slippers and tracksuit bottoms, there was little you could say that wouldn’t make you stay up at night in embarrassment later on. 

“Shut up,” you instead bade, since you looked like an uncle in this particular outfit. Might as well give out life advice. “Don’t give yourself liver and lung problems, kid.”

The cashier’s lips might’ve twitched in that moment, and your own suppressed the agonising grimace that convulsed through your face. Fuck. Why was a high school student giving life advice to this dropout?

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” He began rocking his body to build momentum and twist free—and twist he did. Through the air and right into shiny, slippery linoleum after he canted his hips sideways for a weak punch. And you threw him, plain and simple: collar grasped tight in your aching fists. 

Success. You did not hit anyone! And neither did you accidentally wreck any of these painstaking displays! You would not get chewed out with a slipper curve-balling straight at your head tomorrow!

“Are you—” the cashier began, but you gestured ‘wait’ with a splayed hand as you stared down at the half-conscious man at your feet sheepishly. Was he… alright? Any more of a brain shake and he could end up more stupid than he was five minutes ago, because how the hell would some random shopkeeper join the National Assembly and change the law? Just so this buffoon could buy drinks without an ID. 

“Hold on,” you muttered with a dented pride and some shame. “Let me just—”

You hoisted the guy’s cheap leather-jacketed arm around your shoulder and dragged his wobbling body out, too repulsed by the stench emanating from him to pay heed to his nonsensical babble. There. Now the businessman holed up outside by the bin would have a buddy for company. For good measure, you tossed a powerful mango body spray into the red basket to douse yourself with promptly. 

Awkwardly, you placed the miscellany onto the little table the thug had bracketed off—only this time the cashier’s opponent was some guy trying desperately to not wilt away on his feet. 

“Um. Sorry about that—” The apology was muffled through your hand dragging across your face—peeking through your middle and index finger at the guy in front of you. Pinned to his vest was a nametag you hadn’t spotted earlier: Daniel Park, noted in size 15 Latin characters and rounded hangul alike. “—Daniel Park.”

Gosh, you even bowed. “Please forget what I said to that guy, for my dignity.”

“Sure.” Once his voice had stopped shaking, it really was quite pleasant to the ears—though it currently shook with barely suppressed laughter. He scanned your items with a tiny, tiny smile. “Thanks for that. I might’ve gotten punched if you hadn’t been there.”

“Real pricks out here,” you grumbled. “No sense of shame or anything.”

“Ah,” he quivered for a brief moment, and you felt your ears heat with just how much you sounded like an ahjussi. 

“Forget I said that too,” you muttered mournfully: five stages of grief beginning and ending within you. “I promise I’m not that old.”

Plastic rustled as he pushed the bag towards you: “Twenty-seven thousand won.” And with it, a cheap polka-dot folding umbrella was also pushed your way with a self-conscious smile. You froze, and he floundered. 

“As a thank—as a thank you,” he waved, panicked. 

“Well, thanks.” You honestly were a little dumbfounded at this sudden good fortune. Maybe you’d get struck by lightning on the way home—you were tall enough that it could probably serve as a conducting rod if you tried hard enough. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Just like that you were gone. Back into the neon rain of Seoul you walked, though this time it wasn’t as bad with a pattern over your head and acerbic ice wedged between a sheepish pout. 

・゜・

With a barely suppressed yawn, you stood loudly and proudly (silently and exhaustedly) before your new class. They looked like any other crowd of teenagers: gum surreptitiously being chewed, sneakers squeaking right against vinyl flooring, and a barrage of interesting fashion choices as befitted this department. Back to your own name, you introduced yourself while thinking of about a million other things you could’ve been doing. 

Speaking of your new classmates, they may have been looking at you with curiosity, but there was one particular guy who looked like he’d seen a ghost. Another pretty-boy you’d never done business with, but somehow—for some damn reason—he was staring like you’d shot a horse in front of him. Staring like he was the shot horse. Seriously. Paracetamol was limited in how far it could cure a headache. 

Your gaze met his, and he flinched. Who’s this guy?

Fuck. 

Daniel Park was done for. As you looked at him, he could feel his heart threaten to explode and spatter this whole classroom with veins and sanguine matter. Still wearing that same hoodie, still grinning lazily, and still sporting that confident expression like you could handle anything. His pen creaked in his tight grasp. 

By all heavens, this man was flushed red as soon as your unimpressed gaze met his—pink and suppressing the urge to hide his steaming face in his hands. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

・゜・

“Daniel, why the hell is your face so red?”

‘Are you sick?’

“He’s basically the healthiest out of all of us. Can’t be illness.”

“Okay so you agree it’s unusual then?”

“How odd. Maybe he’s come down with a fever.”

[valeisaslut]

Writing this not only as a fan of your work, but as a writer myself who has yet to post to anything other than Wattpad ahah. (still stuck in my 13 year old era)

The raw and unfiltered joy that collide has given me in unmatched. Its real and painful and bittersweet. Let me just say that after the EPI pt.1... wow. I read it on 28% phone battery at 11am during a power-outage while smoking a cigarette on the porch, listening to the downpour. Both literally as it stormed outside, and figuratively as I read through the whirlwind that was this chapter.

Rachel is an angel, I love her and the depths of her character go so deep. The ending gives me home to our girls getting a happy ending and, well, if they don't... I may enter my villain arc.

I don't interact with posts much, but Collide just really has that affect on you. It lingers on your soul like the stench of your first heartbreak or the humidity of mid-July. Or like the promise of tomorrow. EPI pt.2 comes out on the day I graduate. I'm smoking a cigarette, sipping wine, and riding through the storm. Its here. (We're queer), and baby, we're in the homestretch.

- Finn

finn. finn.

i read this and just sat in silence. like full, still, rain-on-the-rooftop silence. because this… this isn’t just a message. this is writing. this is poetry. this is a letter sealed in cigarette ash and thunder.

i need you to know how honored i feel that you, as a writer yourself, took the time to send this. that you read this story in a storm, both outside and inside you. that you carried these words out onto your porch like they were something sacred and cracked open enough to feel. i’ll never forget that.

“Collide lingers on your soul like the stench of your first heartbreak or the humidity of mid-July. Or like the promise of tomorrow.” i’m actually breathless. this line. this line. do you understand how powerful that is?? i want to carve it into marble. i want to whisper it to myself, and insecure writer who still doubts herself.

and rachel. rachel is the tether. the hurricane lamp. the shoulder in the dark. i’m so glad you see her the way i do—chaotic, loving, soft in places she pretends don’t exist. she’s not just comic relief. she’s loyalty. and in the wake of everything, she’s the only one who kept standing in the fire with reader without flinching.

graduation. epilogue pt.2. a cigarette. a glass of wine. that’s not just a vibe. that’s a ritual. you’re stepping into a new chapter—just like they are. and the fact that you’ll be reading the end of this story as your own life shifts… god. that’s cinema. we are absolutely in the homestretch. it’s queer. it’s unhinged. it’s heart-first, eyes-closed, scream-into-the-pillow type of living. and you’re here for all of it.

thank you, finn. from one writer to another, from one gay in a storm to another— i love you. i’m rooting for your stories. when you post them someday, i’ll be there <3

[the-dragon-hearted]

We, as a community, do not talk enough about how Juvia and Bora are exes.

Like HELLO

Mr. Number 1 Opp of episode 1 who actively participated in human trafficking dating the one and only done-dirty-by-Mashima water woman.

Also Bora broke up with HER? Sir?? There is so much to explore there that, like many things, IS NEVER BROUGHT UP AGAIN -

Okay - so were they childhood friends or was he using her for her looks/powerful magic? Did it start off transactionally or was there some spark there? How long did they date? Did she stay with him because she felt that no one would ever love her, so at least she could be valuable in a different way? Did he make her laugh? Or just put up a facade in front of other people? Was she his backup for a while, a bodyguard adjacent fella for when his schemes went sideways? Is that how they started? What about the end? Sure we see him breaking up with her in canon - but why? You can't tell me he suddenly didn't like the rain of The Rain Woman. I mean he can, he's a prick, but consider the alternative: Did she catch on to his beginnings? Expose one of his scams? Grow critical of whatever shit he was getting into? Did she say something? Did she try to stop him?

The first time we see her she is completely covered head to toe in several layers and the rain does not stop. She says it's never stopped. But damn, doesn't it feel like turned from a drizzle to a downpour after him? I think it's purposeful. The layers are purposeful. The hints are there. She fully expects to be discarded after her fight with Gray. AND seeing how she comes out of her shell in the later arcs - watching her change her hair and her clothes, experimenting with new styles with an almost fervent joy - it just makes me wonder.

Could she not do that before? Was there an expectation there? A controlling factor? How much of her identity was she willing to sacrifice to quiet the fear of being unloved? How hard did the rain fall as it progressed, did it ever waver, or did it only get stronger and stronger.

And Bora? Fucking Bora?

Was it REALLY about the rain, or did she just speak up? Did she intervene and he had enough sense to refrain from trying to harm her. Because if the relationship was built off of him using her for magic and granting her some sense of companionship in return, then he damn well knew that there was no way he, a lil fire mage, could stand up to the actual force of nature that is Juvia. No, that meant he knew EXACTLY how to hurt her without inviting her vengeful side.

So he tells her she's too depressing. He reinforces how unlovable she is. How it's HER fault. How it's always been HER, how he's leaving her because of who she is - how he couldn't change her. He probably throws everything she's quietly confessed to him and leaves - safe from retribution and free to continue his fucking diabolical business. Because he knows he's hurt her worse than anyone else could. He knows that she'll either come running back, or she'll run and run and just keep running.

He doesn't know that Juvia only loved the idea of being loved. Not him. Bora can't imagine anyone not loving him (he can, but he's the one who's running, headfirst into greed with an enchanted ring on his finger - someplace Juvia never would've followed). Juvia doesn't run back to him. She doesn't run at all, the rain pours and she decides: "Fine, if I can't be loved. Let me be feared."

Maybe Phantom Lord orchestrated it, the master seems sort of cartoonishly conniving, and Juvia's magic is insanely powerful - but if that is the case, that doesn't change how easily Bora was bought. It doesn't change how Bora knew just what to say to push her to that point. It honestly doesn't change much of anything.

Bora? Pathetic.

Juvia? We all know she's always been lovesick and maybe if she was allowed a bit more characterization we'd be able to explore why. Maybe we'd talk about why she wore so many layers or kept her hair long. Why she kept a "frilly" pink umbrella but wore all blue. Indulging in a childish side while wearing a face of complete apathy. Why she adores the idea of being loved but can't seem to make it work. Why she's desperate for romance but finds more joy in the friends she makes - it doesn't stop her from chasing "true love" but she finds she doesn't need a lover's touch to chase the rain away anymore.

Because the rain was never about Gray, it was about Juvia. It was about how she was loved - not by others - but by herself.

I could spend eons critiquing how she was written... But for now I'm just gonna sit here and think about the consequences of Juvia dating Bora.

And I'm gonna laugh when Natsu and Lucy own his ass in episode 1. Because they don't even know it yet, but they're avenging a soon-to-be-friend. And honestly, I hope Juvia read about it in a newspaper, the pages soggy under her touch. I hope she sat in a park, the sound of pouring rain drowning out all else, read the headline.

And I hope, that even in that dark moment of her life, when she was the cruelest she would ever be, she read about Bora getting his ass handed to him. And I hope it made her smile.

[kyrieren]

Umbrella vs. Rain: The Driving Forces of Saezuru (1)

Note: My analysis relies heavily on visual elements.

It's impossible to overlook the pivotal roles of rain and the umbrella in "Saezuru". Rain cascades indiscriminately, looms around in moments of predicament, jeopardy, and inner turmoil. It embodies the cruelty and suffering that life offers, taking on a tangible form. On the other side of the frontline, the umbrella acts as a shield against the rain. Despite appearing small and insignificant compared to the rain, the umbrella is the one that the characters need – the manifestation of care, understanding, empathy, and love. Ultimately, it is love that truly shields them from the onslaught of the rain.

I. Rain - the befallen suffering

They are the most vulnerable, being bareheaded.

Rain is a character that makes its debut in the oneshot and is officially introduced by Yashiro in chapter 2 as the pitfall that is hard to get out. As long as you are alive, it seems impossible to do so, for suffering is life itself. This is true for Yashiro, caught in childhood trauma, burdened with unrequited love, and the ordeal of the yakuza world.

Kageyama

The first time rain appears is in the oneshot with Kageyama, bareheaded under the downpour at his father's funeral, which emphasizes his profound loss.

2. Doumekia & Aoi

Followingly, rain ensnares Doumeki and his sister, Aoi in its claws. Each of them is besieged by personal turmoil, yet they both converge at the crossroads of guilt. Doumeki wrestles with self-reproach for abandoning his sister despite her pleas, leading to the rape, while Aoi blames herself for Doumeki's imprisonment and his descent into the unforgiving world of the yakuza, a path of no return.

In this scene, Doumeki presents bareheaded to Aoi, when Aoi, despite having received an umbrella from Yashiro, discards it in confrontation with her brother - a stark visualization of their mutual vulnerability in this emotional tug-of-war. Meanwhile, at the page bottom, Yashiro stands unscathed under a black umbrella, impervious to the rain, playing the role of an observer amidst their turmoil.

3. Doumeki & Yashiro - The first time they have sex

Rain is also an indication of psychological hang-ups, which climb to the climax when they have sex for the first time. In this scene, Doumeki is carrying Yashiro upstairs to his apartment, both are exposed to the rain without the protection of an umbrella. Under the rain, they are defenseless and vulnerable. A predicament unfolds.

The mental wrestling is palpable for each of them. Doumeki's tender love is evident as he tries his very best to treasure Yashiro, which is demonstrated in his attempt to shield Yashiro from the rain with his jacket, though it's all in vain eventually. Despite his efforts, both of them end up getting soaked. This is when past and present intertwine, when the rain of the present drags Yashiro back to the fait accompli he's trying desperately his whole life to decline—he is the victim, the rape does ruin him, and he can’t confront his own emotions. On this page cover, though Yashiro is under the roof with Doumeki beside him, the rain still hurts him deeply.

Ironically and tragically, Doumeki's love and gentle care, meant to comfort and protect, inadvertently break through Yashiro's defense mechanism, causing him pain. This sabotages Doumeki's feelings too.

4. Douemki & Yashiro - the end of the Hirata arc

Last but not least, Saezuru's powerful closure of the Hirata arc is not completed without the attendance of the rain.

They try to save each other. From Hirata, successfully. From the rain, yes and also no. The expression on Yashiro's face is complicated. In the moment of suicidal attempt, he clings to the deceptive desire to "sully the beautiful", to "hurt those I hold dear".

It is a blatant lie, for although he doesn't need his own life, he has done everything he could to save Doumeki, the man he deeply loves, even if he has to be cruel to get him away. Nevertheless, eventually Doumeki still comes for him. That soft look on Yashiro speaks volumes when he touches Doumeki's wound. It could be either relieved or helpless, or both. In the final panel, injured and exhausted, they collapse, allowing the rain to drench them. Yoneda sensei cleverly emphasizes the imagery of grass. Grass, akin to a fragile baby bird, and flower representing beauty and life, which are associated with Doumeki in Yashiro's mind. However, Yashiro doesn't ever realize it is him who is truly beautiful and resilient.

As a plane passes overhead, a fleeting respite from the rain spares the grass before it resumes its relentless task.

The presence of grass in the final scene can be interpreted in multiple ways. It can be Doumeki, or it can be Yashiro. Grass can also be taken as a metaphor for life. Are the lives spared? Literally, yes, for the notorious rain to keep harassing it. So is it a no? Not quite. Just as the grass needs rain to thrive, Yashiro must confront the pain of the truth and the pain of giving up his coping mechanism, which has been engraved in his bones, so that he can finally be liberated and "live" to the full meaning of the word, not just exists in torment. However, among many paths to death, there is only one path to life. The outcome remains uncertain, but there is a chance, indeed, it's upon Yashiro to take it or break it.

In hindsight, rain is not such a villain after all.

Read the next parts here:

Part 2:

Part 3:

[adozowa]

More info about Greed/M reader.

SOME SUGGESTIVE THEMES!

Greed masterlist: 💵💲

SPOILER OF THE GREED STORY BELOW, SKIP IF WANTED

This might actually be longer than some of the episodes, I am making this because there... Might be a teeeeennnyy tiiiiny spar with maybe regarding greed's relatives..

SPOILER ENDED

I will be calling the reader "greed" no usage of the name "reader" just greed/you/he/him/his

-Greed doesn't really have his own name, well he doesn't remember. So he just named himself greed, so truly only his parents know his true identity.

-You also don't really have much of a sad backstory, but you could imagine it in any way if you want! This is just what I interpret. Greed doesn't have trauma or such, he was just a really mischievous kid and ran away from his home town and parents. Plus Kaito too

↓ more below

RELATIVES

-you play cookie run kingdom? Yeah she basically acts and looks like stormbringer cookie, well her hair is similar to stormbringer's.

-your mom... Well she got hit up one night and got pregnant with you, turns out the guy that impregnanted her was a douchebag. He ran away and abandoned both of you so she's a single mom now!

-she is actually a well known pirate, with a bounty of 1 billion berri ...woah!! She doesn't know you are working with the world government or if you're even alive yet! But she is still determined to find you.. Her only goal in life is to find the one piece, and of course her child.

-she has a devil fruit which is the Arashi Arashi no mi, I don't really quite know if it is a canon fruit but it was in the one piece wiki so... Yeah! It's basically a storm fruit, very similar to enel's fruit. (What if enel is actually your uncle.../j)

-I'll just put the devil fruit's info here so you don't have to search it.

MOM'S DEVIL FRUIT

-the Arashi Arashi no mi is a logia type fruit, which resembles storm. Acts like any normal logia, allows the user to control anything associated with weather , lightning, any anything that could happen during storms. Slightly better than the lightning fruit.

- mom also a conquer haki user. Very strong conquers haki.

This is what it looks like

- similar to goro goro no mi/enel's fruit but it's lighting is 10x stronger and can be used for making or producing any thing! It can make swords out of lightning, bows out of storm clouds.. And etc.

-since it is a logia, all attacks not infused with Haki will go through the user and not harm them. And standard devil fruit weaknesses such as armament haki, seastone, water, yeah.

-ATTACKS

1. **Thunderstorm Barrage**: The user channels electricity through their body, unleashing a relentless barrage of lightning bolts that rain down upon their target. Each bolt carries a lethal surge of electricity capable of frying anything it strikes, leaving behind smoldering wreckage.

2. **Tempest Blade Dance**: The user raises his fist to create a whirlwind of razor-sharp wind blades. These blades cut through anything in their path with surgical precision, leaving behind a trail of devastation and shredded debris.

3. **Maelstrom Impact**: The user delivers a devastating sword strike imbued with the power of a raging storm, creating a swirling vortex of wind and debris around their blade. Upon impact, the maelstrom erupts, unleashing a shockwave that obliterates everything in its vicinity.

4. **Apocalyptic Tempest**: The user wields their sword to unleash a concentrated burst of energy that manifests as a cataclysmic stormfront of unparalleled ferocity. Lightning arcs across the sky, winds howl with the force of a tornado, and rain lashes down like a torrential downpour, laying waste to everything in its path.

5. **Thunderous Wrath**: The user wields their sword as a conduit for the heavens, drawing down a cataclysmic bolt of lightning. This bolt strikes with such force that it incinerates everything in its path, leaving behind scorched earth and smoldering remains.

6. **Cyclone of Annihilation**: The user creates a vortex of wind and debris that acts as an impenetrable barrier against all incoming attacks. Within the cyclone, the winds reach hurricane-force strength, tearing apart anything foolish enough to come too close.

7. . **Sonic Cataclysm**: The user strikes the air with their sword, unleashing a deafening shockwave that shatters the air itself. This sonic boom carries with it the destructive force of a bomb blast, pulverizing everything in its vicinity and leaving behind only devastation.

(Can be used only when the fruit is awakened) **Beam of the gods**: The user lifts his arms to create a gigantic ring of clouds from which a devastating beam of heated lightning releases. When this attack is used the user runs out of energy completely and cannot use anymore attacks

Once this fruit is awakened the attacks become much more deadlier and the lightening attacks which were once blue and white switch to a red (heated lightning) this means the user can damage even those who don't take any damage from normal lightning. The beam of gods can also be used but as mentioned before the user might pass out after using this attack due to energy drain .

MORE ABOUT YOU.

-you have a certain little birthmark on the side of your neck, it's like a little circle which is noticable when looking at your neck directly.

-you are actually quite older than Kaito, ignore what the pilot said about both of you being 15 when you left that was a pilot.. But both of you are quite opposites, Kaito is chaotic and unpredictable. Meanwhile you are slightly laid back and calm with your words, despite this difference you consider Yourselves as brothers. Kind of like the asl brothers y'know?

Btw, if you DON'T play crk. This is what stormbringer looks like.. they don't exactly look the same, but hair looks similar okay..

But your mom isn't as playful as stormbringer, more demanding but as daring. Kind of like garp, your mom and garp are actually besties/j but srs garp and momma would be besties if they weren't enemies. Kind of a friendship rivalry going on between them (garp x momma real(

[billycorn]

Empathy - Part 3

Blue and Sarah are back, this time as official Rescue Team OCs! Ficlet under the cut! Part 1 - Part 2

Rain fell in a torrential downpour, hammering away at the earth below. Thunder roared and lightning split the sky. The sun was locked behind roiling black clouds. Yet, Charizard flew without a care in the world.

Flapping her wings lazily, Sarah climbed a little higher, wondering if she could get above the storm. She glanced over her shoulder, at the Lucario lying on her back. "How are you doing back there? Need a break?"

Blue gave a thoughtful hum, poking at the protect bubble he'd surrounded them with. Rain splattered against the shield, rolling down the sides; lightning had struck them a few times (possibly thanks to Blue's metal spikes), but the bubble remained strong. Though, Blue could feel himself growing tired, and he couldn't have that.

"Yeah, a break sounds nice. How about you?"

"Still going strong."

Arcing slowly upwards, Sarah climbed higher, moving quickly through the clouds, until they burst free on the other side. Above the storm, the sun beamed down, lighting upon the churning sea of thunderclouds.

Dropping the Protect, Blue sighed appreciatively, relishing feeling the sun on his fur. Still, with the shield gone, he tightened his grip around the bag clutched to his chest. The bag was stuffed with a blanket, and nestled within it was an egg.

"We still need to think of a name," said Blue.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Like I said, his name is Jimothy!"

"Absolutely not. Also, you don't know it's gonna be a boy."

"Yes, I do! Mother's intuition."

Blue couldn't help but chuckle. "Okay, but if it's a girl?"

Scratching at her chin, Sarah looked about for inspiration. "Rain!"

"You want to name a Charmander Rain?"

"No, I want to name a Riolu Rain."

"How do you know it'll be a Riolu?" Blue raised his paw, mouthing the inevitable response.

"Mother's instinct!"

Running his paw over the egg, Blue closed his eyes and smiled. He could feel it's aura, like a heartbeat, flickering warm, soft.

"I can't wait to meet them," whispered Blue.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, me neither."

The hours passed by, Sarah idly chatting the time away, while Blue offered the occasional comment. The storm slowly dissipated underneath them and finally, hidden in the sunset, it appeared on the horizon. Just a dot by the coastline, but quickly growing closer.

Before long, Sarah was circling overhead, her eyes skimming Pokemon Square below. It was just like she remembered it. She could see Kangaskhan's storage, Persian's bank, Makuhita's dojo, even Whiscash's pond. Sarah could even make out a few familiar faces as she dropped lower, but she didn't land in the square. Instead, she glided to a gentle stop by a crossroads, outside a house shaped like a Riolu's head. A sign sat on the front lawn, reading 'Team Starlight'.

Sliding off Sarah's back, Blue stood and stretched, his gaze crinkling as he looked upon his old home. It almost brought tears to his eyes, and his heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. The egg's aura flickered brightly, as if in response.

Blue readjusted the bag's shoulder strap so the egg hung by his hip, and he lay a protective hand over it. Sarah grabbed his other hand, smiled, and gave him a determined nod.

Taking a deep breath, Blue strode forwards, and knocked on the door. A loud crashing, followed by several voices, came from inside and the door was flung open.

"Blue! Sarah!"

A Butterfree hovered in the entryway, wings flapping so quickly it launched itself into the ceiling.

Sarah threw her head back and laughed. "Caterpie! It's good to see you again! You got big, huh?"

Butterfree straightened up proudly. "Sure did!"

A voice came from further back in the house. "Is that them? Are they here?"

"Yep!" Butterfree yelled over his shoulder. "Come in, come in, let's get started."

Stepping into the house, the nostalgia was like a brick slamming into Blue. He was glad Sarah was holding his hand, otherwise he might have toppled over.

Inside, an Absol was setting out some chairs around table piled high with snacks and drinks; while a Magneton was floating about the ceiling.

Absol smiled at the pair. "Blue, Sarah, welcome home."

Sarah nodded, her throat thick with emotion. "Thanks, Absol. It's good to be back."

Absol went to say something else, when his eyes widened, his gaze settling upon the egg at Blue's side. "Oh, that's..." Absol smiled knowingly. "I was wondering when you two would realize your feelings. Sarah, when did you ask him out?"

Blue huffed and crossed his arms. "I asked her, actually."

Sarah couldn't help but roll her eyes. "After how many hints?"

"Hints? You never gave any hints."

Her jaw dropped. How was this idiot the one she'd fallen for her?

Magneton cackled delightedly as she floated down from the ceiling, where she was hanging a banner. "Blue, for a smart Pokemon, you really are stupid."

"How is this my fault?!"

Sarah smirked, planting her hands on her hips. "You can read emotions."

Blue raised a finger in an 'um, actually' kinda way. "I lost that ability for years!"

"I know that better than anyone," snorted Sarah. "Remember Luvdisc's day, the first year we met?"

Luvdisc's day, the Pokemon equivalent to Valentines. Blue definitely did not remember that day, but even he wasn't stupid enough to admit it.

Sarah flicked her tail and continued. "I gave you a fossilized fire flower."

Blue's head tilted and he looked at the others, but they seemed just as he confused as he was.

Sarah stomped her foot, her cheeks tinting with a deep scarlet hue. "I was so embarrassed I thought my flame would go out!"

The silence was deafening. Everyone shared confused looks, but Sarah just stood there, her cheeks growing steadily darker.

Eventually, Absol patted her arm. "A fossilized fire flower, you said? Perhaps that's part of fire type culture. I certainly haven't heard of it."

Butterfree and Magneton murmured agreements.

Sarah slumped into the nearest chair, her wings drooping. "Wait, you really didn't know?"

Blue smiled weakly, shrugging helplessly.

Holding her head in her hands, Sarah groaned, "I started to give up after that. I thought you just didn't feel the same."

Dropping to one knee, Blue took her hand, slowly prying it away from her hidden face.

"I'm sorry it took so long, but we got there, and it won't be just us for much longer." Holding her chin in his hand, Blue ran his thumb over her cheek. "How about this? To make up for how long I took, I'll spend the rest of my life loving you."

Sarah tried to fight it, but she could feel a smile spreading. "Fine. You're lucky you're cute."

Blue laughed. "If you say so."

Butterfree clapped his hands together. "Well, with that sorted, should we get started?"

Everyone nodded.

Butterfree turned to Blue and Sarah. "Would you like to do the honours?"

Blue and Sarah shared a look and shook their heads.

"We're retired," said Sarah. "You're Team Starlight's leader now. Butterfree, this one is all you."

Butterfree's chest swelled with pride, and he nodded. "Well then, Team Starlight, for reaching diamond rank, congratulations!"

A cheer went up, and the party started, continuing late into the night. Team Starlight's base was filled with unrivalled mirth as old friends chatted eagerly, and light spilled from the home's windows.

Magneton, Sarah and Butterfree were playing a game when Absol sat beside Blue.

"So, where are you living these days?" Asked Absol.

"In the mountains near Everest village."

"Everest?"

Blue ran his paw absent-mindedly over the egg at his side. "Yeah, it's not too far from the Frosty Forest."

"Ah, I see," said Absol. "And what keeps you busy out there?"

"Actually, I'm a teacher now. Sarah leads the local emergency response team, clearing landslides and helping people lost in the mountains, things like that."

Absol laughed. "That does sound like her."

His gaze settling on his partner, Blue smiled softly. "Yeah, it does, but I think she misses being part of a real rescue team."

"Oh? Well, you did found Team Starlight, and Butterfree would be glad to have you back."

"Maybe," murmured Blue. "I guess it depends, Sarah and I will have someone else to consider soon."

Absol chuckled. "What better place to raise a kid? Free babysitters."

Laughing, Blue nodded. "You have a point. I guess, I'll talk to Sarah about it sometime."

Absol nodded, and sat in silence, soaking in the warm atmosphere.

Admist the laughter of his friends, Blue smiled. "You know what, Absol?"

"Hm?"

"I'm excited. I'm really excited for tomorrow."

Thinking back on how Absol met Blue and Sarah, and how far they’d come since, he couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I think I know what you mean."

[fractured-shield]

2 of 5 (+1)

second one in a day, this one's before they're a couple, and taken from an older draft that I'd kind of forgotten about. I have one more in progress, but it'll be a bit slower from here since I'm working and also dealing with car troubles :/

“You know what? I’m sure I can get home, I don’t want to impose.” Leithe took a step backwards. The rain was only worsening, and she certainly couldn’t ask a friend to stay out in it: she didn’t particularly want to be out in it herself. “The guesthouses aren’t that far, and since I’m technically here on official business, no one would complain—”

But that was the catch, wasn’t it? Emissaries and guests of Lairnil’s viscountcy were known to complain of quarters that were…less than expected, to put it nicely. The city’s rapid growth was nipping at the heels of the finer districts these days. While Leithe paid no mind to complaints that were no more than polite variations of “I’d rather the ordinary folk exist where I can’t see them,” she also didn’t want to walk the crowded, muddied streets during such a downpour.

For a moment, Idhren seemed to consider offering his coat—thankfully he didn’t, damn the man and his relentless politeness. “I’d feel awful if I let you walk all the way there. It isn’t any trouble, I promise—I’ll take the sofa, even.”

He’d been on assignment here from Linador’s court for the past few months, which apparently qualified him for lodging slightly closer to the city’s too-perfect, too-new judiciary building. Hopefully it was a bit nicer than her own.

Leithe picked at the trim of her dress. She was one minor annoyance away from ripping off the woven cords and lace, honestly. They’d done their part in giving her the image of someone worth listening to, but they weighed down her dress just as much as the rain that was already soaking through it. “I’m not letting you take the damn sofa in your own rooms. Really, it’s fine, it’s just rain.”

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning arced across the sky, somewhere behind the chapel’s bony spires, its branching offshoots smarting in their vision even after it passed.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she tried, with less effort. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“…You know my superiors don’t actually care who we’re seen with? Council mediators can’t have ties to any faction—which I’m sure you know, I don’t mean to assume otherwise—but it’s no different from keeping company at some festivity or other—” the anticipated crack of thunder interrupted his stumbling insistence, “—and if you’re worried about your parents catching word, I’m sure anyone who would be interested in such gossip has gone to bed. You keep rather late hours, for a member of the nobility, you know.”

And yours are just the same, which I doubt is any more normal for a council mediator.

Leithe shoved a strand of damp hair out of her face as another bolt of lightning crackled across the sky. “They wouldn’t give a damn, now that I’ve no title to inherit. They’d start trying to set us up together, if anything. I didn’t even know you fancied women until yesterday.”

“On—on occasion,” he flushed almost immediately. “But—Leithe, it’s not like that, I’m not asking you to stay because—”

“Relax,” she grinned, seizing the opportunity to poke at him further. “I’ve had years to realize that you’re too shy and uptight to make someone uncomfortable like that.”

“You don’t have to put it like that,” he sniffed. “Though I suppose I’ll take it as a compliment? Leithe, I promise you aren’t unwelcome. I really don’t mind.”

She flinched as the delayed thunder shook the stones beneath their feet. “…I might take you up on that, come to think of it. But I’m taking the sofa, I know damn well you can’t fit on it.”

<<<>>> <<<>>> <<<>>>

“You’re not such a bad host.” Leithe looked up from her cup of tea: something spiced and warm, and vaguely floral. “Such a gentleman. Do men fall for that sort of thing as much as most noblewomen I know?” “It’s not like that—” “I know, I’m just teasing.” She added more honey to her tea, just to see his disapproval. “Thank you.” While Leithe sat warm and mostly dry, Idhren shivered despite the warmth of tea and hearth, a blanket around his shoulders and his damp hair tied back. On the walk to his quarters even the covered paths hadn’t been enough to keep them dry as the wind picked up, and he’d dropped his coat over her shoulders before she had time to protest. “Better me than you,” he offered a thin smile. She hadn’t even said anything, but damn it if he hadn’t seen some lingering discontent in her face just the same. The bells of Lairnil’s chapel tolled a few streets away, announcing the hour. “Why do you keep saying that?” He looked down, rubbing his nose with one finger. “It’s…I mean, It’s the least I can do. After everything you’ve done, today and otherwise.” “After I—what? I kept you company in the archives, and I brought you food. We’re friends, is it really so hard to believe I’d do that much? You’re the one letting me stay on your sofa.” The bells were still tolling. She hadn’t realized it was as late as that. Idhren was shuffling through some papers he’d left on the table in a neat stack. Leithe snatched them from his hand before she could stop herself. “Absolutely not. The bureaucratic drudgery can wait until morning. You said yourself, none of the court is working at this hour, you’re no exception. Finish your damn tea.” He laughed softly and at least had the sense to look embarrassed as he set the papers aside. He had a rather pretty laugh, didn’t he? Leithe had realized at some point that she’d like to hear it more often.

if anybody’s curious I got <4 hours of sleep myself and will be working on this today :)

[ask-elliotgang]

ISABELLE: “Hey dad.”

JONNY: “Hey kiddo... Why don’t ya sit down. I think we have to have a talk.”

Isabelle makes her way over with the tissue in her hand to the couch and sits beside her Lycanroc father. The air is tense. Silence sits between everyone before Isabelle speaks up.

ISABELLE: “I don’t want to go home.”

She starts tearing up again. She’s afraid of her mother now after what she’s done. Truly she was always weary of her mother but this takes the cake.

JONNY: “I’m not gonna make ya have to come back there if you don’t want to. That would just be dangerous. I have an idea of what to do though. Would you like to hear it?”

Isabelle simply nods, wiping away excess tears with her tissue.

JONNY: “Well. I know that after this I’m not letting her anywhere near you that’s for sure. If you want you can stay here at Bean’s place. I can go stay at a Motel nearby run by one of my friends from College. I can go back home and slowly get more of your stuff for you since I have my own pair of keys. I’ll have my phone recording the whole time if she tries to yell at me or hurt me for helping you for evidence. Then we can go to court and I can get custody over you. And we can get a restraining order against her and move somewhere nice. Do you like how that sound?”

The daughter nods.

ISABELLE: “That sounds really good. Th. Thank you.”

BEAN: “I still can’t believe she did that. She seemed nice whenever I visited.”

JONNY: “Yeah well. Sometimes people can pretend things very well. And Carol is... a master pretender I’ll say that.”

Isabelle then gives her father a hug. A very tight hug.

ISABELLE: “Thank you for supporting me dad... Even if you don’t understand fully I just. Thank you.”

Jonny hugs her in return, giving her back soft pats.

JONNY: “No problem Is. I’d have to be a pretty stupid father to not support my own daughter heh.”

He releases her and stands up, putting his now empty glass of previously water on the coffee table.

JONNY: “I think I should head off now. I’ll probably go get your things tomorrow in the morning or... maybe the day after tomorrow. It’s getting quite late now.”

He ruffles her hair leaving Isabelle smiling as he begins to walk towards the front door before he stops.

JONNY: “Also one last thing kid. I love you.”

Isabelle replies. “I love you too dad.”

The father leaves, having done his job of checking in on Isabelle and helping her, explaining what he plans for the future after this. He just wants to keep his daughter happy and safe. And that’s what he plans to do. He gets in his car and drives off towards a place he’s visited many times in the past and is going to be staying at for a while once again.

-= ARC 1: RAIN AND DOWNPOUR - END =-

[ciaran-archive]

Serious question. How do you write long stories? Is there a technique or advice for that? No matter what story I have in mind, I can't seem to tell it in anything longer than 1 to 2k. Writing 5k is tiring already, where do people seriously get that stamina to even do 50 or 100 or 200k? It's mind-blowingly amazing.

there is nothing less worthy or amazing about writing shorter fic - i know writers who struggle with it, and i’ve come to inhabit that position somewhat myself, though i’m determined to stay in practice. it’s a different skillset, that’s all. your fics aren’t worse for being shorter.

that said i will not deny that longer fics generate far more engagement from fandoms simply by virtue of updating more often  → being on top of the ao3 tag when people first open it  → getting more clicks and being considered less ‘frivolous’ (which is bullshit, but what can you do)

if you’re dead sure you want to write longer fic, i would first recommend reading this post about writing drabbles, which i promise is relevant to the point i’m about to make.

Because drabbles are about one moment. You don't need to know exactly what happened before this moment of dialogue, or what happens next, or what's happening around it. You don't have to do any of the planning you might do for a longer fic, but you also don't have the space to let the scene lead in and develop naturally. You've got 100 words.

a lot of writing a longer story is about establishing the scope of your story, deciding what beats you want to hit. there are a lot of ways to go about this; [some people like to outline. i don’t outline, ever, so if you want help for outlining you should look at the other sources on the internet. there are quite a few.] i’m going to talk about the way i’ve learnt to do it.

so when i’m writing a short fic, the thing i’m considering is one or two ideas, and one or two moments (short in this case being under 5k). this also depends on the style i’m going for - fics with sparser styles can fit more scenes, if i’m going for my usual style, each scene takes about 700-2000 words at least and therefore takes up more space. a lot of how i eased into writing longer fics was focusing on stylistic changes - you can push up the word count of a fic by going moment by moment. note the difference between: 

They’d been standing next to each other as they spoke; now Felix turned to him in the rain, startled by the admission of weakness. He reached out clumsily, bumping his hand against Ryan’s until he took the hint and grabbed on.

and 

The rain made it near-impossible to hear Ryan speaking, but the harshness in his voice would’ve been audible through a hurricane. “So you ran away,” he said, like he hadn’t expected this. 

“Course I did,” Felix snapped. “What was I supposed to do? Stick it out and let her kill me?” I almost did, he added under his breath.

Ryan’s sensitive werewolf ears, of course, caught that. “I’m glad you did,” he amended, as though it pained him to admit it. “I would’ve - I did the same. It’s all you can do, sometimes.”

Felix turned to him, blinking through the curtains of water. Ryan was slouching in the downpour, eyes narrowed elsewhere. Mostly he was startled by the admission of weakness - rare in a person who prided himself so thoroughly on being reliable and independent. He reached out, struck by the urge to offer whatever clumsy comfort he was capable of; his hand bumped against Ryan’s, and he held it there until Ryan caught up and wove their fingers together. 

His hands were wet and cold, and he gripped so hard Felix’s very human bones ached, but he wouldn’t have pulled away now. Not when he’d been the one to offer.

it’s not even that one is necessarily better than the other - they both work, and they’re working in different ways. they’re set in the same scene, conveying the same beat - reaching out to comfort someone in the wake of vulnerability. it’s just that one is longer, and therefore gives you more room to - set the scene (rain, being unable to hear each other) - use dialogue to show what is being told in the first example - convey extra information about the characters (actually, if this was a scene i was writing in a fic or novel, the stuff about ryan being a werewolf would already be known to the reader, so i would use that space to convey something else about ryan in that moment) - elaborate on felix’s internal state: the transition from defensive to curious/surprised to gentle - linger for a sentence or two on the moment of connection

this is about unraveling a scene and making it bigger than it was, breaking it apart into tinier beats and describing each one in the narrative. what happens when you do that and your fic doesn’t get much bigger still?

back to scope! we understand, as people who read and write and live, that the part of a story that you choose to depict in a narrative is not the entire story: events happen off-screen. some of them happened before the story started, and they will continue to happen after the story ends. the narrative is only showing you an arc, a particular series of events. 

when you’re writing fic, you have in fact tremendous amounts of flexibility when it comes to the scope of a story. you can write something that is about a single moment in canon, and trust that your audience is following along because they have the context already. so you don’t need to waste time on setting it up, which often means - if you’re given to a certain kind of fic writing (canon compliant / small divergences / missing scenes / character studies) your fics will end up not being very long because you’re not reiterating what you don’t need to reiterate. your idea is small because it inhabits a small space, is squished between canon events, and so doesn’t ever get bigger. if this is what is happening, it’s good, and you should try to preserve this going forward. 

people who are writing longer fic are, simply, working with bigger ideas*. they’re not just going “what if he said what he wanted in this scene instead of going home?” and writing the bit where they kiss immediately after - they’re also going “what if this changed everything in the future? what happens if they tackle all their problems together from now on? what new problems arise from this?”

*hopefully they are working with bigger ideas. i have seen longfics that are just incredibly fucking tedious because the author swallowed a thesaurus and had a tenuous grasp on plotting to begin with. 

that’s for a canon divergent fic, presumably. you might also be writing a post-canon fic, with its own set of pre-fic events and a new set of problems to deal with. currently, for example, i’m writing a fic where akira and goro were dating after canon, broke up, and stayed together in a deeply dysfunctional way after that - and the consequences for them now that they’re forced to deal with the mess they’ve made of their lives, together and apart. so now they have to deal with: the catalyst for dealing with their old problems, which is a problem in itself, and their old problems, which have been festering for a really long time.

which forms the core of the scope i’m talking about. i have to go through a bunch of scenes to set this fic up - i need to show their old problems and their new problems, i need to explain why the old ones haven’t been dealt with already, i need to set up the potential for dealing with them and the necessity of doing so, i need to give them places to start, and also i want to allow them to fail so they can choose to start again. i know these things because i have some idea of the kind of story i want to tell. if i didn’t know this, my story would not go anywhere by itself, and i would have to start outlining scene by scene the way people who actually outline do it, and i hate doing that because then i never write. 

if you can outline and it doesn’t make you want to chew wood, then i highly recommend picking up the habit. it’s very useful, and the methodical approach is a fantastic failsafe for the moments when you (me) get stuck on your fic (breakup au) and have to stop writing for several weeks in order to figure out a single fucking plot point that will let you move forward and

anyway. 

so yeah! to sum up;

find a larger scope for your story

get in the habit of picking apart beats into discrete moments and guiding the narrative through them

learn to outline if you can

last thing - which is perhaps the most vital and least reliable - stamina. 

you WILL lose interest in half the longer fics you write. it WILL suck. if you think you know pain because you have 700 words of a fic and can’t get through the last 400, i promise you it is like that but much worse because you have 7000 words now, or 17000 words, and you are stuck with no way forward. it will suck so BAD. 

don’t beat yourself up over it. once you’re in the habit of writing something long, you will retain that habit, and be able to apply it elsewhere. the words aren’t wasted, they’re practice, and they’re worth what they’ve taught you.

but! all the scope and internal scene-building and outlines won’t help you if you do not (and this is not as bad as everyone makes it sound) actually write. you HAVE to learn to actually write. you have to figure out what you like about writing and make a longfic outline [/ scene beats notes chart / themes mind map / tumblr tag of inspiring quotes and photography] that consists entirely of stuff you love and then you have to sit down and write your fic. it is not terribly scary. it’s okay to fail, but you also have no way around this. 

i hope this helped, and good luck!

[silversilence14]

MCSM - Cottfo Creature Feature Contest

The feed back on this was so fast and overwhelming haha so wow you guys wanted it okay then let's do it!

As you know, Creature Feature will be a animal/monster maker contest for the MCSM AU Cottfo Universe!

Winners will be featured in the next arc of Cottfo! (be the animal passive or aggressive.)

Submit your creations to my Tumblr, My Insta, or to the offical Cottfo discord to enter the contest!

Aiding rules below:

Animal Rules:

The animal maybe be one of three things

1) A New mysterious Creature entirely

2) A "evolution" of a animal we are familiar with

3) A mutation of a animal we are familiar with and is already in the universe (i.e Bites has 4 eyes, the bunny had six feet, cow had two heads etc)

Your animal may be presented through art or detailed writing. 

Provide a bio of your animal :

Avg weight, height, speed, strength, weakness, diet, hunting tactic, how it interacts with its own species etc. If it is an evolution, include what  it evolved from.

Your animal may be a:  predator, herbivore, omnivore or a parasite like creature.

The animal may be : A mammal, bird, amphibian, reptile. (The later two are plausible but less likely to survive compared to the other two.)

IMPORTANT! Please remember that Cottfo is in a freezing climate. Animals must be able to survive the sub-artic temperatures. Either give it a thick hide like enderman or fur or other means to survive the snow and storms.

Tips:

The evolution does not have to be bound by science. If you want to give your animal a pink unicorn horn - go for it - but provide the "logic" as to why they need it that color etc.

Information about Cottfo's Climate and Regions:

It's a freezing climate,  temps rarely above  - 20°F

Heavy amounts of snow are everywhere! 

There are still forested areas - namely in the mountains. Evergreens and pines are the most common tree. Bark can be pale due to lack of sunlight. Trees are commonly buried up to as deep in 20 feet of snow and their branches have adapted to be higher.

Lakes are usually filled with high concentrations of acid nothing large lives in them.

Rivers are safer but still radiated

Ruins and buildings are often hidden in snow, providing impromptu cave systems.

Some animals (before the bombs) had been brought back from extinction and live around as well

Examples include: The mammoth, large species of bison, irish elk, cave bear, dire wolves etc.

Cottfo is primarily in Cottfo but has mentions of Wyoming and Utah

IMPORTANT! 

Your animal does not have to be isolated to these regions. They migrate, be a descendant of an escaped zoo animal like a giraffe or a tiger etc.

Weather:

Heavy winter kicks in around Nov - Feb. Temps drop to -40°F average. Many animals hibernate during this time. (Your animal does NOT have to do this.) Human travels stop during heavy winter. If your animal preys on humans keep this in mind. Heavy winter brings blizzards and up to 20 feet of snow in some places.

Light winter begins as soon as Feb and goes until heavy winter returns. Snow can still fall during this time, averaging 2-3 feet. Temps flux between -30°F to -12°F

March-April brings Hail storms, and rain storms

Hail stones baseball sized give or take

Rainstorms are massive downpours and what helps reduce snow levels - downside is 

Winds up to 60-90mph and flooding

Light source (which is mainly from the radioactive clouds covering the planet) are blacked out by the lower storm clouds. Humans cannot see during this time without a manmade light source.

Radiation storms frequent in April when a sweep of (slightly warmer) air pushes clusters of radioactive clouds from the atmosphere down to earth

Moves like a wall across the planet - hundreds of miles wide at worst

Air levels turn deadly - shelter highly recommended

Wind up to 120mph or more

Impossible to see in gas laced winds

Animals either have a high immunity or take shelter in cave/burrow

Lightning inside storm is constant striking down every few seconds or so.

Light levels for the planet are low.

Like so:

Final Notes:

There is no submission limit - you can submit as many creatures as you want.

The size of the animal has no serious limit but please be reasonable. (We don't need another witherstorm lol) and I need to write it in so go easy on me.

The animal can be as cute or horrifying as you please. 

Deadline will (for this moment) be till FEB 19TH 2021. Or until I say otherwise.

Do not be afraid to DM me and ask me lore questions to aid in your creature creation. 

And finally - Have fun!

[sakuraswordly]

Source: Web

From the ground only the top part of the resulting rainbow is visible, the one in the shape of a multicolored arc. However, if we rise above the surface of the Earth we will realize that a rainbow continues below the horizon. That is why from the air we have a greater chance of witnessing a truly amazing phenomenon, a complete circular rainbow. This 360-degree rainbow was photographed from a helicopter flying, between a downpour that produced it and the rays of the Sun, over Cottesloe Beach, in Perth, Australia. Historical conception of the rainbow Throughout history and at different points in geography, an attempt has been made to explain the appearance of the rainbow in different ways. He could not give a scientific explanation because there was no scientific method as we know it today but at least they gave fantastic explanations. Illustration of the worlds according to Norse mythology with the Bifrost Irish mythology Without a doubt, the most "fantastic" and well-known conception he has of rainbows is that of the existence of a kind of gnome with a cauldron. According to Irish mythology, leprechauns are a species of gnomes that carry a pot full of gold. They are defined as cunning and greedy, and that is why the story goes that to protect their treasure they only come out of hiding when a rainbow appears. Leprechaun with a pot of gold at the base of a rainbow The children were told that if they were able to reach the point on earth from which the rainbow came out, they would meet one of these beings and be able to keep the gold. And, when we see a rainbow it gives us the feeling that it is like a colored ray that starts from a point on earth, as if someone were projecting it into the sky. The thing is, the rainbow is "generated" in our eyes (It is an optical effect), and whatever we walk we will never reach its base. (We will see later why). Newton's prism Optics was the object of study of many civilizations and as the years passed, advances in this branch of physics progressed. The study of the rainbow and the colors belongs to this branch, and it was not until approximately 1670 when Isaac Newton formulated a theory that related the visible or white light and the colors of the visible spectrum. Visible light is one of the bands of the electromagnetic spectrum, and within this band the colors appear, arranged in the same way as in the rainbow. The less energetic electromagnetic waves go below red and are called infrared, while the most energetic waves that go after violet are called ultraviolet. Newton's experiment Before Newton, Descartes already suspected the idea of ​​decomposing light into colors. However, he was not able to obtain more than two colors and did not know why it happened. To study the behavior of light Newton used a pair of glass prisms. In a darkened room where only a beam of light entered, he placed a prism in front of the beam, so that it passed through it and reflected the light on the opposite wall. He observed that the colors of the rainbow appeared on the wall in order one after another. Newton in his workshop with the prism experiment However, at this point there were two possibilities; Either the prism gave color to the light, or the light was the mixture of all the colors and the prism simply decomposed it. In order to reach a conclusion he realized in a second prism that he placed behind the light decomposed into colors. After moving the prism through each of the colors Furthermore, by meticulously placing a second prism he was able to mix all the colors and project a beam of white light. Two connected Newton prisms that decompose and unite colors Newton showed that what is normally known as visible or white light is really an indistinguishable union of waves of different frequencies, each associated with a color that our eye is capable of perceiving. How does Newton's prism work? The explanation is quite simple and is due to the difference in frequency of each of the colors + the refraction due to the change of medium. Refraction is the change in direction and speed that a wave experiences when passing from one medium to another with a different refractive index. Refraction of light in water This deviation in the direction of propagation is explained by means of Snell's law. On the other hand, and what really matters to us, is that the speed of penetration of light in a medium other than vacuum is related to the frequency of the wave. For a ray of light with an angle of incidence {\ displaystyle \ scriptstyle {\ theta _ {1}}} in the first medium, angle between the normal to the surface and the direction of propagation of the ray, we will have that the ray propagates in the second medium with an angle of refraction {\ displaystyle \ scriptstyle {\ theta _ {2}}} whose value is obtained by means of Snell's law: {\ Displaystyle n_ {1} \ \ operatorname {sin} \ theta_ {1} = n_ {2} \ \ operatorname {sin} \ theta_ {2} \,} Where {\ displaystyle n = \ frac {c} {v}} \ is the refractive index, which depends on the speed v of the wave in the medium. Snell's Law When a beam of white light passes from one medium to another, each color undergoes a slight deviation because each has a certain frequency. This phenomenon is known as light scattering. Newton's prism decomposing colors Formation of a rainbow The manifestation of the rainbow, as we have explained with Newton's prism, is due to a decomposition of white light into pure colors. Indeed, the drops of water that are still in the environment. That is why a rainbow only appears after it has rained a lot (Environment very loaded with drops of water) or there is a slight drizzle (Drops are falling but they do not reduce visibility or cover the sun). To understand the formation of the rainbow and understand why we will never be able to reach its base, it is necessary to be very clear that the rainbow is generated in our eye. It is an optical effect that depends on the observer due to the incidence of the rays. Nothing to do with an aurora borealis for example, where what you see are particles that exist as such. Animation of an aurora borealis The rainbow is generated in such a position that when we see it just behind us, the sun is located. The thing is, the sun's rays advance and enter the drops of water, producing refraction (the colors separate) and reflection (The ray returns to us). Refraction of light in water droplets What happens is that this ray with a circular shape due to its geometry goes directly to our eyes, and that is why from the earth we see the half circle or rainbow. Graphic formation of a rainbow Full rainbow of circular shape from an airplane View of a full rainbow from the sky It is a bit what happens with mirages, also caused by the refraction of hot air on the surface. THERE IS NOTHING there, it is an optical effect that is generated in our mind.

[outer-bnks]

Two Burning Hearts Are Dared to Break (JJ x Original Character) Ch. 1

Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

What happens after you lose one of the most important people in your life? After losing John B and Sarah, JJ and Elle realise that the only thing they have left is each other. 

Picks up directly after 1x10. 

Content: sadness, grief, slow burn, eventual best friends to lovers 

Warnings: swearing, mentions of child abuse/bruises from child abuse, mentions of grief, mentions of anxiety, non-sexual shower scene

Inspiration: OBX the series, especially 1x10.

A/N: I’ve had this idea in my head since finishing OBX the first time. I want to make it into a slow burn series with angst and pining. Also want different love interests introduced which causes obvious tension (Topper character redemption arc). Let me know if you’d be interested in reading that. 

Also, I’m Australian so beware of UK spelling habits instead of American eg. Mum vs. Mom. 

Word count: 2388k

feedback/likes/comments really appreciated

It’d been roughly an hour of sitting in the makeshift SBI tent, the tropical storm raging on whilst the heavy rain pelted down around it. Pope with one arm around Kie as she continued to sob into his shoulder, her parents sitting in silence beside them. Heyward took the initiative of talking to Shoupe after he had delivered the news, pulling him away from the kids to try and gain some perspective on the matter. Members of the SBI were bustling in between the tents, continuing on with their investigation.

Across from Pope and Kie, JJ sat, head in his hands, trying to block out the sounds of everyone around him. Shoupe’s words on repeat in his head “We lost them… we lost them”. Elle sat to his right, staring blankly at the ground. Unlike JJ, her head was empty, and not the peaceful kind of empty, the kind that would slowly drive you insane. This kind of silence between the pogues was rare, each too consumed in their thoughts, or lack thereof to attempt any kind of conversation.

Elle felt JJ shift beside her, finally lifting his head from his hands. She turned to watch him, cautious of an emotional outburst. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks wet with the constant stream of tears that had been trailing down his face. Wiping his face clear, he stood up abruptly, gaining the attention of Pope, Kie and her parents. 

“Can we leave this fucking tent yet?!” he questioned, looking towards the SBI agents guarding the entrances. As if on cue, Shoupe and Heyward entered, pulling their soaking hoods down from their heads. 

“Not yet son, we need to get statements from each of you and do some questioning” Shoupe responded, hands on his hips as if to maintain his authority, but his face held a solemn look. Elle couldn't tell if it was due to the guilt or the pity. 

“Questioning?! You’re going to question us about how you and your minions drove our friends right into a raging storm?!” JJ challenged, taking his signature red hat off and running a hand through his tousled hair out of frustration.

“Look, I know you’re all hurting right now”, JJ scoffed, Kie finally lifting her head from its place on Pope’s shoulder, “but this is still a criminal investigation, and you’re all accomplices as far as we’re concerned”.

“That’s absolute bullshit Shoupe, he wasn’t a criminal and you know it!” Pope exclaimed, surprising everyone in the room.

Heyward stepped forward, as if to take control of the situation, “Come on man, look at these kids. Do they look like they’re in any way to be interrogated right now?”

Holding eye contact with him, Shoupe sighed, lifting his eyes to glance around the room from one pogue to the next. “Alright, go home and get some rest. But we’re going to have to bring each of you in tomorrow”, pointedly looking at JJ he added “and we want to know the truth about everything”.

Rolling his eyes JJ looked across to Pope and Kie, who both shared the same looks of worry on their faces. Talking to the police about everything that’s happened over the past few weeks was the last thing any one of them wanted to do.

Everyone started to disperse from the scene. Kie hugging them all before leaving with her parents, her Mum’s arm holding her close as they walked to their car. The Heyward’s followed their lead, bidding goodbye to Elle and JJ before heading home. JJ turned to look at Elle after watching their friends leave, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread just thinking about returning back to his house.

Elle, like always, picked up on the fear radiating off of him, grabbing his right hand in her left and squeezing it gently. She knew there was no possible act of affection that could slow the thoughts racing through his mind right now. “Hey, come and stay with me tonight”, she offered softly. The very idea of returning to her house alone tonight caused feelings of anxiety to arise, at least if she had JJ there, her house wouldn’t feel so empty.

It didn’t take much to convince JJ. Going back to a mansion in Figure Eight with his best friend seemed a hell of a lot safer than returning to his beat up shack with his father, who no doubt was already passed out on the couch. JJ’s eyes moved from their place on their interconnected hands up to meet Elle’s eyes. They held a pleading look, silently begging him to let his walls down and accept the offer that on any other occasion he would refuse. 

“Uhh, yeah.. Okay”, he nodded softly. 

“Alright then”, Elle turned back to the seat that she had occupied, picking up her keys and beginning to drag him along with her, “let’s get the hell out of here”.

----

The car ride was silent. The only sounds coming from the engine of Elle’s jeep as they drove through the Cut, the water pelting down onto the exterior of the car. JJ sat next to her, his gaze never wavering from the window to his right. The torrential downpour had soaked through their clothes, leaving Elle shivering slightly as she gripped the wheel. She’d always loved driving, especially around the Cut. The scenery was similar to that on her side of the island, but the feelings that it evoked were the opposite. The Cut felt more like home than Figure Eight ever would, but there was a nagging thought that that feeling was due to the boy sitting next to her, and not the Cut itself.

Passing over the bridge into Figure Eight, it was only a matter of minutes before they had arrived at the Sterling residence. The grand house stood on a large block of bright green land, surrounded by a carefully maintained flowerbed, displaying the hard work of the Sterling’s gardeners. The outdoor automatic lights switched on as Elle and JJ made their way to her front door. JJ had only been inside Elle’s house a handful of times, despite their 4 year friendship, but he still doesn’t think there'd be a time where he wouldn’t be astounded by the sheer size of it and the never ending staircase that greeted you as you entered the front door.

“Are you hungry? I can grab us some food before we head up to my room” Elle proposed, pointing towards the kitchen.

JJ denied the offer, in spite of the slight grumble that came from his stomach. He was worried that anything he tried to get down might not stay there.

Elle nodded, leading them up the stairs to the second floor which held her and her brothers bedrooms, as well as another living area. JJ felt out of place in his wet, muddy clothes and bruised skin, a strong contrast to the white walls and clean carpet. 

Entering her room, JJ stood awkwardly, noting her large queen sized bed with a quilt cover that matched her blue and white colour scheme, and the walk-in wardrobe to the left of it. He wondered why she’d needed such a closet when her wardrobe consisted of tank tops and shorts throughout the summer. 

“Did you.. uh.. wanna take a shower? There’s towels in the cupboard under the sink and shampoo and conditioner inside the shower if you need it” she asked whilst rummaging through some drawers in her closet. She pulled out a pair of soft black shorts and a tee that she had borrowed from JJ when staying over at the Chateau a few weeks ago, holding them out to JJ shyly, “these are yours, freshly washed. Think they might be a bit more comfortable than what you’ve got on”. 

JJ had to glance down to remind himself of what he’d been wearing. She was right, the combat boots adorning his feet were sturdy and heavy, his shorts stiff from a mixture of dried rain and mud, whilst his button down clung to his body, entirely saturated. Glancing back at Elle he accepted the clothes, offering what he could muster up of a smile. 

“Yeah..thanks”, making his way toward the on suite bathroom that was to the right of her bed. 

Elle busied herself by searching through her drawers for clothes to change into, when she heard JJ began to speak.

“Um, Elle, would you mind uh”, she turned, watching him stutter over his sentence.

“Yeah?” she encouraged softly, curious as to what he was getting at.

“I… uhm, well, I don’t really wanna be alone right now”, he confessed, mumbling the last part whilst avoiding eye contact by focusing on how his boots were dirtying her floor.

Taken aback by his admission of vulnerability, Elle’s brows furrowed slightly, somewhat confused of what he was asking.

With caution, she pressed “Do you want me to come into the bathroom with you?”.

“Well like, yeah… if you don’t mind”, finally lifting his gaze to meet her eyes. Compared to the pleading look they held back at the tent, they were curious and inviting. JJ would never understand how her eyes were able to show every emotion she was feeling. 

Giving him a reassuring head nod and a comforting smile she responded, “Of course I don’t mind”. 

Turning back to her drawers, she grabbed out a pair of pyjama shorts and a run-down oversized t-shirt she had bought from the country club’s charity fundraiser a few years back. Opening up her underwear drawer, she spotted her pale blue bikini. Grabbing it out, along with a pair of clean underwear, she walked over to where JJ was leaning against the bathroom door, watching her. 

Contrary to Elle’s usual confidence that she displayed, nervously, she held up her bikini whilst proposing her idea “I know you don't want to be alone right now, and to be honest neither do I. Would you mind if I hopped in the shower with you?” 

His blue eyes widened slightly, with both surprise and affection. Under any other circumstance he would make an inappropriate or flirtatious comment, when faced with this kind of situation. God, he really wished they were under any other circumstance right now. 

Despite the heavy feeling in his heart, he cracked a small smile and joked “As long as you wash my hair”.

Elle giggled, a sound that he hadn’t heard in a few days. Since the gold game had taken a turn for the worse. He’d missed it.

Following her into the bathroom, he stripped down to his boxers, whilst waiting for the water to warm up. Once he’d stepped in, he relinquished in the feeling of the hot water running down over his head and down his body. 

Elle, now in her bikini, his favourite bikini to be precise, stepped in after him, sighing at the feeling of the hot water slightly scalding her body, after being uncomfortably damp for so long. 

Observing her movements, JJ watched as she picked up a body sponge and pumped some body wash onto it. Turning back to him she motioned for him to turn so that his back was facing her. Beginning at his shoulders, Elle moved the sponge in circular motions, the grime starting to lift off of his tanned skin. She worked quietly, focusing on the task at hand, distracting herself from the thoughts of the past few hours that threatened to enter. JJ remained silent while Elle worked, attempting to relax under the water and her gentle touch.

Once she had completed his back, she applied some pressure to his right arm, turning him to face her. They met eyes, a mutual feeling of vulnerability connecting them. Moving her eyes away from his face, as to contain some kind of break down, she began the circular motion from his shoulders and collar bones, down to his torso. Elle sucked in a breath after being faced with the dark purple bruises that covered his toned body. She doesn’t think she will ever be able to remove the images of these bruises from her brain. Anger surged through her temporarily at the acts of violence that had led to such bruises to arise. Elle crouched down slightly, now eye to eye with the marks and using a gentler motion than before, cleaned over them, wary of applying too much pressure and causing him even more pain than he’s already in. She let the water wash off the soap from the injuries, softly pressing her lips to the area, kissing lightly, before moving onto the next mark.

JJ sucked in a breath at the act of affection, watching her press the kisses to his skin. No one had ever treated him with such care, as if he were porcelain and pressing too hard may just shatter him. His heart swelled with a feeling he couldn’t describe, tears prickling at his eyes. His breathing began to shallow, willing himself not to break down completely. 

By the time Elle had returned to a standing position, JJ had tears streaming down his face. With the same gentle touch as before, she wiped under his eyes, ridding them of what she thought were tears, it was hard to tell amongst the water of the shower head. She searched his face, trying to decipher his emotions.  Did she hurt him? Had she gone too far? Had she crossed an unspoken boundary that wasn’t supposed to be crossed? JJ cut off her overthinking when he pulled her into his body, holding onto her for dear life. Elle tightened her arms around him, his body shaking while he sobbed into her neck, the warm water running over them, blocking out the sounds of his whimpers. 

With more emotion than she’d ever heard in his voice, he finally spoke “He’s gone Elle. He’s just gone.” Between sobs, and spluttering he continued, “What am I supposed to do now? He’s gone. He was all I had”. 

Elle joined him then. She tightened her hold on him even more, as the tears beginning to fill her eyes, turned into streams of tears, and then into a full-blown breakdown. They stood there, under the water, holding onto each other desperately, crying. Crying for everything that they’d been through. For everything that they’d lost. For John B. 

[madhyanas]

here be dragons

Part 1 of the Hospitality series

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13

Word Count: 4.6k 

Warnings: One use of a slur, aimed at the reader.

A/N: ahhhhh it’s a little late, but i finally finished this. now i can finally start posting this series in the RIGHT order, oh my god. check it out on ao3 here, if you want.

It’s late.

You lie in your cot, staring into the darkness. Unable to sleep, surrounded by the vicious tempest outside. It’s raining heavily; pelting down so hard you can hear it through the roof and feel it through the floor. Occasionally, you hear a boom of thunder, and the inn doors rattle and shake.

You’re glad you fixed the waterproofing this morning.

In a storm like this, you hold some half-hearted hope that a traveller will stop by. Someone soaked and freezing; desperate enough for you to hike up the price of lodging without turning away business.

Swindling a tourist here and there can’t hurt, in the grand scheme of the galaxy. You have to eat, after all.

The rich scent of waterlogged earth fills the room, and something about it seems unfamiliar. You’ve accustomed to the occasional downpour by now, having lived on Takodana for many years. But the lingering air of petrichor reminds you just how different home was — all dry deserts and salt flats, the odd dust storm. Certainly no lush greenery or blue skies.

As a lump settles in your throat, you miss the mechanic stand from your childhood. The slick smear of oil on your mother’s cheek as she gave the speeder a tune-up. The stripes on your father’s montrals above the welding mask as he soldered wires back together. When he was done, he’d always squish your little face in his palms. Smoothing his thumbs over the white markings on your face, near identical to his. The only symbol of your Togruta heritage, contrasted on a face of your mother’s colouring.

You sigh, and sit up. Now, you’re stuck here. Running an inn by yourself, out of business and in denial about it. You miss the feeling of freedom that came and left with youth; running through the streets, being swept up in warm, protective arms. Your mother rolling her eyes. Your father’s laugh.

Suddenly, a bang. You hear front doors slide open, and your heart leaps into your throat. The sound rings in your ears for a moment with its violence. Blindly, you grab the vibroblade from the table and scramble to the entrance. You’ve never used it before, and you pray the doors are just malfunctioning.

As you skirt through the narrow passageway, your stomach drops. No such luck. A large, silhouetted figure stands before the main desk, looming ominously as the wind howls outside. Maker, they’re huge. Far bigger than you, and a small, nagging part of your brain says they could kill you in a heartbeat.

It’s still dark. Frozen as you are, you haven’t turned the lamp on. In vain, you hope they might leave if no-one arrives. A bolt of lightning flashes outside, and the glare arcs off the stranger’s helmet.

Your eyes widen at the glimpse of a smooth, glass t-visor. A Mandalorian.

Oh, you’re fucked.

In that moment, they turn to you directly. The back of your neck tingles, and you realise they can see you. Their helmet turns down to the vibroblade in your hands, before returning to your face calmly. Of course. You don’t think you’re a very threatening sight, cowering in the doorway like this.

You feel remarkably stupid.

Hesitantly, you step forward and switch on the lamp at the desk with your free hand. Light pours out softly between you, doing nothing to calm your nerves. You squint, eyes adjusting to the brightness, trying to control the pounding of your heart.

“I am in need of lodging.”

You blink. The voice, low and rumbling, is scrambled by a vocoder. Male, from what you can tell, and the static scratches at your ears. He’s covered from head-to-toe in deep blue armour; rivulets of water drip off the steel, puddling on your floor. Some kind of pack rests on his back, and you try, fruitlessly, to ignore the glint of a trigger and scope.

Towering over you, you’d have to crane your head just to look him in the visor. You don’t have the nerve, in any case.

It occurs to you, faintly, that you could die tonight. It also occurs to you that the chances of an untimely demise would be significantly higher, if you keep gawking at him like this.

“Uh…”

“Lodging,” he repeats, sounding distinctly impatient. “Is there a vacancy?”

Maker, when is there not.

“Yes! Yes, there’s a— there’s a vacancy.” Fumbling for the log-holo, you set the vibroblade down in a cubby under the desk. Still within reach, and your receptionist autopiloting kicks in. “Uh, single room, how many nights?” You glance up at the shiny helm. The usual questions, but it feels… impertinent, asking for information. Like you’re violating his sanctity, or something, just daring to wonder. Especially about someone so clearly hostile. How does a faceless sheet of beskar manage to make your stomach churn?

“One.”

Of that, you’re grateful. One night, and you’ll be done with this. “Okay,” you reply, dragging out the sound. You sound nervous. He must be able to tell. “And, uh, name?”

He stares you down. It suddenly feels cold, frigid, even though his visage most definitely cannot change. It strikes you, in that moment, that even your sensitive nose can’t detect anything on him. The rain has washed it all away, except for a stubborn, smokey hint of blaster ammunition. Recently fired. A shiver runs up your spine.

Acerbically, he snaps, “Pick one.” There’s a rising heat behind the words, you don’t push your luck.

“I’ll— I’ll just put ‘Mando’,” you mutter, entering the moniker into the log. Once again, in the span of less than five minutes, you feel like a moron. Heat rushes to your cheeks.

But there’s one more caveat. You should probably forget it, just this once, but for some reason: “You’re not allowed to bring weapons inside. While— While you’re staying.”

A golden rule. One of the conditions upon which you were even allowed to run this place was your responsibility to maintain peace. (You often wonder what the Pirate Queen was thinking, believing you capable of breaking up any kind of violence.)

To your relief, the Mandalorian doesn’t explode with rage, or any such violent gestures. His shoulders are tense, but this — dealing with irritated, tired travellers — is familiar. He’s no different, you tell yourself.

“The weapons stay.”

“I can’t let you—”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religion.” You blink, and your silence seems enough for him to continue. “I won’t be using them on you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Keep your distance, and there won’t be a problem.”

A threat. Perhaps he’s trying to reassure you, in some strange way, but it doesn’t stop the cold fist of dread from closing around your heart.

“I’m… not supposed to—”

“You have my word.”

A muscle in your jaw ticks. Despite the nerves wrenching your stomach, there’s an urge to stand your ground. To defend the principles of Maz’s territory. (Or, more selfishly, to rebuke how easily he’s trampling all over you.) You shift, ready to argue.

But then he moves, one hefty arm lifting upwards, and you flinch. He pauses, before fishing a leather pouch out of a pocket and dropping it on the counter. You hear the familiar clink of credits. The sound elicits an instinctual reaction, a lurch of hope. You lean forward with a frown, inspecting the offering.

You gingerly pluck it by the drawstring, and its weight is a pleasant surprise. The contents are promising — a fee far exceeding the cost of one night’s stay.

A prickling mixture of shame and embarrassment heat your cheeks. Oh, how quickly your righteous anger fades at the promise of payment. Again, the back of your neck tingles. A reminder, that the Mandalorian is watching.

Taking a steadying breath, you bring your eyes back to the visitor. “Should I… show you to your room?”

A beat, then he nods.

You step to the side and flick the overhead lights on, waiting for him to go first. But he continues staring, and your skin itches with the weight of judgement. You realise he’ll only follow behind.

You swallow thickly, keeping your gaze averted as you lead him inside. Your little bungalow inn doesn’t have that many rooms to begin with, so you keep them all clean and ready for a guest — that’s not the issue.

But you have to go the night knowing there’s an elite warrior, perfectly capable of silencing your heartbeat, staying two doors down. You have to sleep with that knowledge.

You realise the vibroblade still rests in your palm. It feels clunky. Foolish, in your inexperienced hand. The Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps thud behind you, accented by the clank of metal armour. You clamp down the urge to rub the back of your tingling neck, and in some peculiar urge to reconcile, you half-turn to him as you walk. Slowly, showing him the weapon.

“Ah, I wouldn’t use this, you know. On you.” He’s crushingly silent, appraising you. He has to duck his head slightly to fit in the passageway, nearly filling up its width with his bulk.

You blather on, blindly spitting out words to fill the silence. “It’s just— all sorts pass through here, you know? This place has Kanata’s stamp of approval and all, but better safe than sorry.”

Still, no response, and you wince at just how green you sound. You swallow, having reached the doorway; you’ve led him to the quarters with the largest bed, having figured he’ll need it.

“There’s instructions to set the passcode inside. If you need anything,” you say, hoping he won’t, “I’m that door over there.” For one, awkward moment, you stand, feeling horribly out of place with the brooding figure at your side. “Well. Goodnight, then.”

You turn around, credits and blade in hand, ready to step into your quarters and get some kriffing rest, when the crawling, fuzzy feeling on the nape of your neck intensifies.

With one foot through the doorway, you hear him call out to you. “I thought no weapons were permitted.” A coarse noise crackles through the vocoder, and you realise it’s a laugh. You feel a cold sweat run down your back. “Is that blade just for show, then, little innkeeper?”

He— he sounds amused. Finding entertainment in your clear disadvantage. You feel sick, sick to your stomach, and slam the button to close the door behind you. Wetness springs to your eyes like clockwork, but the tears don’t fall even as you collapse on your cot. You’re pathetic, you think. Unable to stop him from belittling you, never mind barring him entry.

Sleep, though it eventually comes, is fitful and disturbed. Phantom helmets and mocking, modulated laughter fill your head.

In the morning, his room is emptied out. Bed made, fresher tidied.

No trace of the Mandalorian, at all. You’ve never been more grateful.

———

The second time you meet the Mandalorian, you’ve got your hands full.

“I’m not running a charity here.”

A Zabrak man has his hands planted on the desk, leaning into your space uncomfortably. Maker, guests like these test your patience.

It’s a poor attempt at intimidation. He’s taller than you, certainly, but gangly in a way that screams awkward, rather than lean. Scrawny, drawn out. Even the spikes protruding from his yellowish face are lumpy and faded. You wrinkle your nose at the faint, rank odour of sweat and booze. Overall, you’re unimpressed.

Besides, imposing figures don’t phase you much anymore. Not since that fateful encounter, nearly a cycle ago. You’d feared for your life that night.

Few were as large a threat as that Mandalorian.

The Zabrak hisses in your face, “Maz Kanata owes me a great debt. I’ll take it out of my bill.”

In your periphery, you can hear the telltale sounds of landing gear outside — a new arrival, but you can’t deal with that right now.

You blink slowly, and sigh. “Listen, this shtick you’re trying to pull? I’ve heard it before.” So, so many times. You’re not the only cheapskate in these parts. “You have a problem with Maz, you take it up with her. She doesn’t control my inn any more than I control the Castle.” That’s… not exactly true. But you doubt it matters to him.

Twisting his face unpleasantly, the man snarls, “I demand recompense, innkeeper. Return my credits, and we won’t have a problem.”

You recall being browbeaten at similar words. That night you cowed, frozen by the weight of mortality hanging over your head. But you have since hardened in the months that passed, and you steel your resolve.

Leaning close to the Zabrak, getting in his face, you speak through bared teeth. “You’re right. You get out of my inn, and we won’t.” Curling your lips into a disgusted half-sneer, “So I’ll be keeping my credits.”

“Insolent fool,” the Zabrak growls, and he moves to reach for something concealed behind his back. You jaw clenches — how did you miss that he was armed? — and you flinch backwards as he reveals a blaster. Before you can reach for your trusty vibroblade, the doors slide open with an innocent ting.

Standing there in the doorway, is your Mandalorian.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him, huge as ever, ducking his head to step over the threshold. Armed to the teeth, as per usual.  He saunters forward slowly, purposefully. The swagger, the presence in his gait impossibly makes him seem… bigger? Somehow even more bulky than last time?

The Zabrak whirls round, only to balk at the steely-blue cuirass his chin comes to level with. He’s harmless compared to the warrior before him. You can only imagine how tiny you must seem. The Mandalorian keeps his head inclined down to the horned man, who’s now gripping the desk behind him, but his words are for you.

“Trouble, innkeeper?”

Maker, it’s been months since you heard that rumbling voice. It still knots your stomach, but less so, you think, than it did. You’re surprised he remembers you.

Your confidence with the pesky guest has not dissipated, however, and you find your words. “I don’t know.” You address the Zabrak calmly, “Is there any trouble, sir? It’d be a shame if things got… unpleasant.”

The wilting man cranes his head to you with a frantic look in his eye, and you feel a flash of pity. Ah, kriff. You’ve made your point.

Glancing at the Mandalorian, you make a subtle ‘back-up’ motion with your palm, half-wondering if he’ll take offence. But thankfully, he does as you request, and the Zabrak’s wheeze of relief is audible as he deflates.

“Takodana Castle,” you start, a little gentler than before, “Is three miles that way.” You thrust a thumb to the side. “One path, cuts through the forest. Can’t miss it.”

The Zabrak stumbles his way around the Mandalorian, never taking his wide eyes off the helmet. The armoured man steps aside silently, and it’s a wonder how he makes such a simple gesture seem so mocking. Saying that he’s the one in control, even if it’s temporarily at your behest. All in the way he shifts, the dangerous glint of his blasters in the light.

The memory of his laugh, hearty and sinister, echoes in your brain. Your toes curl in your boots.

Once he’s out of the door, the Zabrak gains some ill-founded sense of security. His wiry frame tenses, and he glares at you, spitting, “Watch yourself, halfbreed.” With a single, fleeting glance to the Mandalorian, he runs off towards the forest.

…ah.

You purse your lips, and look to the floor out of habit. Heat rushes to your cheeks. The slur is not unfamiliar to you. Your lack of montrals and lekku allow you to blend in, to lie low. But your markings reveal who you are. It’s strange; you think you’re proud of them. What they represent, who gave them to you. But the wave of shame that crashes over you sends blood roaring in your ears. For the Mandalorian to witness this? It’s a pitiful sight.

In the corner of your eye, you see him clench a fist, and you quash the sickness of your heart down with a vengeance. There are more pressing matters at hand.

“So. It’s, uh, been a while.” You cringe at the heavy-handed attempt to change the subject. Now that cursed Zabrak has left, it’s like all your bravado has sputtered out. And, really? Last time you saw the Mandalorian, a man from a culture of elite warriors, you thought he was going to murder you in your sleep. Been a while, indeed.

He plays along. “Well, I was in the area. Figured I should save the damsel in distress, while I had the chance.” He leans an elbow on the counter, resting his weight on it, and for a moment you’re perplexed.

The Mandalorian is… teasing you. Relaxed against your desk, standing close but not enough to be invasive. It’s a far cry from that shadow in the pouring rain, haunting your doorstep. “Although, from where I was standing, you didn’t seem to need much help,” he continues smoothly.

Compliments? Maker, if it were anyone else, you might even think he was making a pass at you.

But it’s him, and you give the helmet a strange look. It’s a little freaky, in all honesty. “I… see. What business do you have here, then, Mandalorian?”

The helm sags slightly in what you can only describe as a falter. It’s jarring. So incongruent with the persona you have crafted in your mind.

“I can’t just drop by?” You imagine your disbelief is evident on your face, because he sighs, a deep and raspy thing, before his voice sobers a fraction. “I have business with the Pirate Queen.” Your shoulders slacken. Of course. It’s a relief, in some way, to know that the purpose of his visit is so normal.

You ready the holo-log at your side. “Ah, sure. How many nights?”

He straightens and rubs a hand to the back of his neck briefly. You stare at the offending limb, entranced by such a normal, hesitant movement. It’s… It’s so very human, for lack of a better word.

“I’m not looking for lodging.” You blink up at his visor, frowning. “My work should only take a day, at the most.”

“Then…”

“I told you. Just wanted to drop in.” That doesn’t answer anything at all, and he elaborates, “I rarely visit Takodana, innkeeper. I thought I’d say hello while I was here.”

Your lips part. What? How… how can there be so much lost in translation? You’ve been afraid of this man, or a barebones idea of him, for months now. Like some kind of boogeyman, under-the-bed horror to spook children into good behaviour. And he comes to you with something like friendliness, with a smart one-liner and warmth in his tone?

You shake your head, dazed; reluctantly, you decide to give it to him straight. “I… I wasn’t under the impression that we were friends, Mandalorian.” He stills, and you keep going. “Honestly, uh, last time. It wasn’t great, for me. You— You scared me.”

‘You still do’ sits on the tip of your tongue. In the disarming haze of his amicability, you can’t tell if it’s true or not. You ramble in the face of his silence, if only to quiet the conflict in your mind. “I thought that you’d— I mean, I thought that I might. Y’know. Die, that night. I was tired, okay, and— and I didn’t know what to think…”

You trail off.

The Mandalorian stands before you, wordless. Your knees aren’t trembling, but there’s a worry seated deep in your chest. It’s interesting, maybe, that you don’t know who it’s for. Guilt begins to creep up on you, bitter at the back of your throat. Kriff. Just as you open your mouth to say something, his voice comes through the vocoder.

“I apologise. I was not… I did not know. It was never my intention to scare you.” His voice sounds hoarse, like the very thought of your fear repulses him. His words are not clumsy, per se, but there’s a rawness there that makes you notice how eloquent he usually sounds. The visor does not stray from your face. “I am sorry. Truly, I am sorry.” His shoulders are slumped, and he’s curling in on himself slightly. Making himself smaller, you realise faintly, and he presses a gloved hand to his chest. The helmet bows. “Ni ceta. I apologise, innkeeper.”

You blink rapidly, not knowing what to say. That’s… an awful lot to take in. You can’t remember the last time someone really begged for your forgiveness like this. You swallow thickly. Don’t cry.

The air seems muggy, somehow. Heated. As if all the truth that has burst forth carries a flame with it, burning the space between you. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his vambrace. The metal is cool against the warmth of your palm, and you’re careful not to touch any of the buttons on the control panel.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “I appreciate that. It’s— it’s alright. I think.” You nod determinedly, as if to reaffirm your words.

Heartfelt apologies don’t spill out so easily from heartless men, surely. He’s worth more trust than you give him. And his stance — defeated, ashamed — no, it doesn’t suit him at all. The helm tilts back up to your face, and you shoot him a small smile. Some kind of impulse lurches in your chest; to comfort, to come together. It’s genuine, and there’s a rosy warmth to your cheeks that feels pleasant.

You slide your hand away from his arm to offer it in the air. It hovers boldly, an attempt to bridge the abyss. It takes him a second, but he clasps your hand in his. You shake firmly, and his grip is strong, yet not painful. Reassuring, in a way. You suspect he’s controlling it for your sake.

“Let’s start fresh, huh?” You give him your name, and he repeats it.

His baritone resonates in your ears; it sounds like molasses, dripping into chest and heart. To hear your name uttered with respect, reverence, in that clear-cut way he speaks. It is nothing short of a miracle, in a moment.

You reassure him immediately, “I don’t need yours, if you’re worried about that sort of thing.” You lick your lips nervously. “But I do need something to call you. Got a preference?”

He hums, and you’re grateful how at-ease he sounds. It’s better this way. “What was it I told you that day? ‘Pick one’, I believe.”

So. This is the Mandalorian. He’s got jokes.

You snort, more at the realisation than anything else, and his posture brightens. “If you’re sure.” You press your lips together, thinking of a name. The back of your neck tingles all the while, and the weight of his stare is welcome for the first time. “We could just keep simple? ‘Mando’ would work.”

“Original,” he drawls, not unkindly. “But fine by me.” You have no idea, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

“Alright, then, Mando.” It’s so surreal, chatting with your own personal nightmare after months, just to find out he’s kind of… sweet. Nice to talk to, in a way you didn’t know you needed till now.

———

You two make small talk for a while over the counter. Mild, lighthearted. You learn that Mando’s a much more nuanced soul than you first assumed. Thoughtful, contemplative — careful in the way he speaks to you. You’re not used to that kind of consideration, and it’s appreciated. He’s funny, too, in a crooked kind of way. Like a mismatched puzzle piece fitting in the wrong set, bringing a bemused, entertained quirk to your lips. He conveys wry amusement surprisingly well, despite wearing no facial expression to back him up.

Now that you’re not quaking at the sight of him, your curiosity emerges. Is it a pain, lugging so much armour around? Does he sleep with the helmet on? When did he get that ship, parked just outside? Is it painful, having such a pensive heart, but evoking fear with every step?

Mainly, though, you’re just happy. The blue of his beskar is softer to the eyes, now. It’s the feeling of dipping your toes into chill, crisp waters. Testing the mood of the current, of this new depth you have yet to discover.

Being friends. What a novel idea.

Mando turns to look out the window. The day is well into the afternoon; there’s still time before sunset. “I should get going,” he states, but makes no move to shift off the desk.

There’s a twinge of disappointment. “Oh. Right, your work.” You scuff the toe of your boot against the floor. What can you say, really? One day of budding friendship doesn’t give you the right to impose.

“Yes. The Castle is… eastward, you said?”

You hum in agreement with where his finger is pointing. A shame. You thought you’d have more time with him. “Three miles through the forest,” you intone glumly. “Can’t miss it.”

Would you have to wait a cycle to see him again? More? Would you be waiting here, stuck in your idyllic, but oh-so-small corner of the galaxy, waiting for your Mandalorian to return? You purse your lips; the image doesn’t agree with you. You don’t agree with it, rather.

Finally, he straightens, and the height difference doesn’t startle you, this time. (Impresses you, maybe. Makes something giddy flutter in your chest. But you can’t afford those thoughts, can you?)

Mando tilts his helmet side to side slightly, as if he’s considering something. Weighing the pros and cons, and the action is somewhat exaggerated. You pay no heed, picking at a nail bed idly. It’s childish, sulky.

“Three miles can be travelled by foot. No need to waste the fuel.” He turns to you. “Never been through these woods before, though. Might get lost.”

In your disgruntlement, you don’t catch the leading inflection. You sigh. “I don’t think a Mandalorian would have much issue with an uninhabited forest. You’ll be fine. Just one straight path; don’t stray and it’s easy—”

Mando bends down a little, and says your name seriously, prompting you to look up. "I might get lost. Could use a guide.”

Your lips part in realisation, forming a small ‘o’. That’s what you say, too, and heat blooms in your cheeks at his static-filled snicker. He thinks he’s clever.

“So,” you start swiftly, attempting to recover your dignity. “Is it my turn to save the damsel?” He turns to the door, and you step round the desk to join him.

“I can slay my own beasts,” he snarks, and the mirth you hear is lilting. “You can return the favour, for the dragon I just scared off.”

You huff. “Hardly a dragon, I think.” With finality, you flick off the electric lights and step outside into the clean Takodana breeze.  “Wasn’t really a rescue so much as pest control.” You detect the light, spiced scent of the fragrant tree bark nearby. It grounds you to this moment. Taking in a hearty breath, you do your best to put that stinking Zabrak out of your mind.

A few hours off would be good. You barely get any guests anyway, and Maz is the understanding type. Living for millennia must do that to you.

Mando says nothing as you punch the lock code digits into the door, and start to make your way towards the forest. You know the path to the Castle like the back of your hand, like the strokes on your face, but you have never walked it with company. You smile, unabashed.

There’s a first time for everything.

———

[note: if there’s any warnings you think should be mentioned, please let me know.]

taglist: @pikapuff316 @theocatkov​ @starlite41

if you’d like to be added to, or removed from, the taglist, just give me a shout :)

[ryukyuan-sunflower]

Hi hi! I just wanted to ask how often you update your fic! I’m really excited to start reading it, as I love stories over 100k and I am just so happy to find something so eloquently written! I am not looking forward to not having any more chapters to read, but I am a patient person! I just wanted to know what your schedule is like and if it is anywhere near the end? :)

Hiya :D So this is a bit complicated for me to answer. Not because of you, but because of how I'm working on Finding the Four-Eyed Samurai.

The short answer is, it generally takes me 1 month to complete a chapter. Chapters are around 10,000 - 20,000 words and usually require a lot of research, whether historical, atmospheric or simply going back and rewatching scenes from the anime that are referenced or alluded to.

But...since April 2020, I have posted 9 new chapters, a one-shot, and rewrote Chapters 13-19. So that's...17 chapters in 10 months?

I've also just finish rewriting Chapters 8 and 9 but can't post them yet. So that's...19?

*sweating* That's a lot more than one a month.

Basically, now, I write...A LOT. Every day, when I can. Whether it's actually writing, or researching, or planning. The thing is, my updates before 2020 were not nearly that fast... And this is where the problem lies in answering about my updates.

The earliest chapters were written 9 years ago when I was a young teen. And they are not written good. I probably have lost so many readers who read those chapters and immediately backed out. I'm still surprised so many people decided to trudge through it, to see my writing grow through the years. (It still needs work even now but...)

As of now, I will not be posting Chapter 46 until all the early chapters are rewritten. This will take me a couple more months. And then, they will all be posted together. Now, when i say "rewrite", I don't mean I'm just revising for typos, and rewording sentences to sound better. I mean I'm literally OVERHAULING the plot of Chapters 1-12. The only things that have generally stayed the same is Mugen and Fuu's dialogue. (So don't worry about losing out on a favorite interaction! Those don't change.)

To give you some context of these "OVERHAULS", I'll talk about the rewrite of the "ghost arc" of Chapters 10 and 11.

Original on the Website now (posted when I was 14): Chapter 10-11. Just two chapters and around 10,000 words total.. Complete fluff, in which Mugen and Fuu get stuck in the rain and stay at an abandoned manor that may just be haunted. That's it... No plot, no other characters, just fun Mugen x Fuu interactions.

Revision to be Posted in May, 2021: Four Chapters now spanning 8-11, totaling around 50,000 words. (five times as long as the original). Yes, Mugen and Fuu get stuck in the rain again. Yes, Mugen and Fuu stay in a haunted manor again. However, this time, there's plot relevance that makes it feel more like a Samurai Champloo "episode". Not just fluff.

-During Obon Festival in Edo, they meet with a Shugendo Buddhist monk named Taikan in a temple graveyard, when Fuu is paying her Obon respects to Shinsuke (who died in Edo in the anime Ep 7.) This monk is heading to Bancho, Edo to perform an "exorcism" on a Hatamoto samurai's wife with strange behavior. The manor is infested with black worms which are believed to be associated with this "demon" or "ghost". Because Mugen and Fuu are starving, and have no place to sleep in the coming downpour, Taikan offers to bring them along to become servants to the manor's owner: Aoyama, and his "possessed" wife Chouka. It becomes a sort of mystery/horror arc in finding out what is causing the bizarre incidences in the house, still full of Mugenx Fuu interactions too, of course. (Even more than before actually!) But it also gives some references to real history, and a more meaningful reason for the chapter's existence and the characters' growth.

That is just one example! The Kokoro and the Yakuza arc, and Mugen and Fuu remeeting also need to be heavily rewritten too!

Now, for your very last question... Is the story anywhere near it's end?

Finding the Four Eyed Samurai is planned to span 60 total chapters. After revisions, I will be back to writing the new Chapter 46. One posted every month, likely starting in July 2021. So that leaves only 15 chapters left. It seems like a lot... (which it is, considering that's roughly over 150k words left to write) However, in context to the whole story...that's only 1/4th left to go. I already have the rest of their journey plotted out...And, it's strangely sad for me to think about. Hm...After revisions and all chapters, FTFES might just be around 800k words??? Um???

But yes! UM.

I highly recommend waiting until May to read the early chapters, when they are all rewritten. However, if you've already managed to get past the first 12 chapters, then thank you so much for trudging through that... And I hope you will still go back and read the new revisions when they're posted in May or June. I put a lot of work into them, just as much as writing all-new chapters.

Thank you so much for the questions, and for your interest in my Fanfic!!! It means so much to me, and just inspired me to go into writing mode today :D

May I ask if you have already started reading it yet? And if you have, what chapter are you on?

[eirianerisdar]

5, 6, 8, 20, and 25?

5. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

The following is an excerpt from Chapter 9 of The Rain Curtain, where Obi-Wan nearly breaks in the endless desert of Tatooine, and the Force gives him cartharsis.

(:~:)

> His lips are salty with sweat and metallic with blood when he opens them and releases a barest whisper.

" Please."

And the first raindrop hits the back of his head.

The drop is followed by another. And another.

And then the sky splits open with a crash of thunder, and water cascades upon him as though the heavens weep for joy.

Obi-Wan lifts his forehead off his hands and feels the rain wash away his tears.

His first thought is, strangely, that the Lars homestead would be out of business for at least a month.

The Force shimmers around him, as though saying laughingly, You were heard, dear child.

In response, the deluge roars into a sheer torrent, slamming into the sand-sea in perfect tiny impacts of silver needles on hungry dunes. Obi-Wan tears off his cloak with shaking fingers and is instantly soaked through, wonderful chilled moisture running down his coarsened beard and through his tattered tunics, limning his lightsaber with silver and his palms with liquid crystal.

He rips his boots and stockings off and throws them down beside his abandoned cloak; the first step of his bare feet onto rain-sodden sand is a relief so pure and unimaginable that he nearly weeps again.

A memory rises from the locked-away depths of his mind, of tiny feet pattering on the muddy banks in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, of orange webbed fingers in one of his hands and a human one in the other, three young shouts rising into the air as they dive into the cool current of the river.

Mischief, joy, and glorious childhood.

Obi-Wan is alone here, but he shouts anyway, throwing himself into the downpour. It is a shout that has been kept within him for ten long years; the howling remnant of You were my brother, the raw unending syllable at the end of I loved you.

He wonders if he looks like a madman; mad Ben Kenobi, wizard of the shifting sands. <

(:~:)

The Rain Curtain traces Obi-Wan Kenobi’s life from childhood to death in ten episodes of rain. This chapter shows his final cartharsis during the tenth year of his exile on Tatooine, when he was at his breaking point. I loved writing this section because here we finally see the extent of Obi-Wan’s grief - for Anakin, for Qui-Gon, for Satine, for the fall of the Republic and the Order he so loved, and the Force answers his plea here not with a few scanty drops of rainfall - but a deluge. It encapsulates Obi-Wan Kenobi as a character - grief, endurance, an endless capacity for joy. The chapter echoes back to all the other rainfalls earlier in the fic, and serves as the climax of the story before his final step into eternal rain on the Death Star.

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Oh, Obi-Wan, definitely. He’s such a versatile and complex character and so integral to the saga of Star Wars that everything from fluff to humour to angst to hurt/comfort meshes well with him.

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

Mostly. I have a love for highbrow fantasy like Tolkien and things like C.S. Lewis’s Perelandra, but while I don’t necessarily write with the same historical gravitas as Tolkien does, I draw from similar themes, and themes related to my faith.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

OOH okay, on the verge of spoilers:

1. Ezhno’s future role is far more important than most people think. I won’t say more than that on the subject.

2. Fathers and sons form one of the main themes of The Silent Song, and each pair of characters showcases something different. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan show how even unconditional love does not prevent a parent from accidentally taking their children for granted. Dooku and Huei show the corruptive effects of parenting based on raising a child to specific standards for success. Feemor and Huei show the importance of parent-child relationships being a friendship of sorts, but also the danger of being overprotective. Mace and Ezhno show the importance of strong paternal models for children without fathers, and the dangers of conflict if the “father” is in a position of absolute authority and extends that authority without consulting their children.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

When I finally finish building up for something that might have taken the whole arc, and then spring it upon my readers. Anakin’s birth is my favourite of these moments so far. It’s why I didn’t hint at names or anything throughout that scene until one of the other characters says to the new mother, “What will you name him, Shmi?”. The reviews for that one were glorious.

Send me writing asks!