#edge of a razor sharp queue

[blackjackkent]

On closer inspection, our final murder target - Figaro the Facemaker - is now marked with a second quest indicator:

So I guess this is where our final showdown with Dolor is going to take place.

Figaro was super rude to Hector for literally no reason, so maybe this is just desserts, but probably not, so hopefully Rakha can end her foray into CSI on a high note.

(Side note - I've been trying to figure out a reason for Rakha to head into the west side of the city so she could run into Elerrathin's home, and guess what - it's directly across the street from the Facemaker's! Fantastic.)

Rakha doesn't really get the best first impression of the place, as a boutique customer immediately shouts at her as soon as she gets in the door.

"Oi! You! Get in the bloody queue!"

This young man is deeply lucky that Rakha is WAY too preoccupied to get stabby right now. Even the beast urge in her head is entirely focused on the possibility of blood being spilled in Bhaal's name in the next room.

She definitely, however, does not get in the queue but instead goes charging through the main doors into the boutique's back room - and comes to a sharp halt, crouching into the shadow of the door as she sees movement within.

(A/N: Once again, this is way more interesting if you actually do the murder questline. Hector only got here after killing Orin, and I literally didn't know this NPC had another purpose besides insulting your clothes unprompted.)

In a chair at the far end of the room sits a dwarf in a fancy outfit of blue and gold. His body is rigid - rigor mortis, Rakha thinks at first, but then she sees the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. No - paralysis.

Another paralyzed body lies on the floor nearer the door. Rakha recognizes this one. Devella - Valeria's assistant from the Elfsong.

And Dolor, the Bhaalist killer, the dwarf dressed in red, stalks the edge of the room, a maniacal grin on his face.

"It's unusual for prey to supply the tools of its own butchery," he purrs mockingly, coming to a halt next to a large table lain with a variety of tools. "Razors, scissors, nail files - so many cuts one could make. And yet... such a fleeting window..."

With a delicate touch, he lifts a large knife, positions it at the Facemaker's throat. "But then... who am I to deny the auspices of destiny? For we are celebrating, Master Figaro! You have the delicious honor of being my crowning achievement. Your body is my ultimate gift to my lord Bhaal! Together, we shall transcend!"

(A/N: Props to Dolor's VA; this is a legitimately creepy little speech.)

Rakha has gone stock-still, her eyes fixed on the blade. The beast, having reached the critical moment, has woken and is roaring in her head. Yessss... slit his throat, spill his blood, present your gift to my Father with it painted across your hands...

She finds herself possessed of a sudden terrifying urge not to help but to leap forward, to steal the kill away from this upstart dwarf and rend apart Figaro's chest with her own hands. The blood pulse pounds in her temple like a drum.

"Rakha!" Wyll hisses. "Rakha, come on! We have to do something!"

His voice cuts through the haze and she draws a ragged, groaning breath. She releases the knife she had begun to draw unwittingly from its sheathe, clenching both hands instead into fists.

"Stop... right... there..." she rasps out.

The dwarf freezes, the edge of the blade just touching Figaro's neck. Then his hand drops to his side and he turns to face Rakha, and the manic light in his eyes sends an involuntarily shiver of ice down her spine.

Do you recognize me, boy? she wonders, unsure if it is her own voice or the beast's in her thoughts. Do you know who I am?

"A challenger..." Dolor hisses. He lifts the knife again, this time turning its point towards Rakha. "My lord tests me. This piteous hovel will be your grave, challenger!"

Rakha's head spasms. Kill him first, then, hisses the beast. Fool. Blasphemer. He threatens us. Kill him.

And there's no time to think about this further as Dolor hurls himself at her with a scream of fury.

----

There are, it turns out, five doppelgangers in the shop here to watch the show (including the two "customers" in the front hallway). Not a terribly hard fight, although Dolor is a pain who likes to go invisible which is always annoying.

When the battle is done and the dwarf lies dead, Rakha leans heavily against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut, focusing on keeping hold of herself and ignoring the beast urge, which very much wants her to finish the job by crossing the room and slitting Figaro's throat.

When she opens her eyes again, she finds that Devella - unparalyzed again and looking deeply frazzled - has come to stand in front of her.

"I can't believe I'm glad to see a Bhaalspawn," she says, sober and earnest and just the slightest bit shaky. "But gods... I knew you'd be the one to stop this." She rubs the back of her neck wearily. "If it had been the dwarf alone, we might have stood a chance, but those doppelgangers... they swarmed us." She shudders. "We were paralyzed before we even had the chance to fight back."

Rakha doesn't say anything for a moment or two. People being glad to see her is a new and rare enough concept that it is not something she really knows how to handle well just yet.

Devella has been a strange one - seemingly unbothered by Rakha's heritage and far more focused on her actions, her willingness to fight the Bhaalists and the plot against innocents. And now she's pleased that Rakha is here, without question or hesitation.

Minsc is not here to judge, she remembers Minsc telling her, only a few nights ago. That is a thing for hamsters and hathrans alone. It seems Devella might agree.

The feeling of gratification this brings is unfortunately muffled and deadened by the darker urges; Rakha's instinctive response, with the beast still roaring in her head, is something along the lines of the more fool you, followed by a knife in the neck.

But she waits out the urge, her fingers rapidly flexing into and out of fists, until it passes, and then her shoulders slump as she exhales slowly between her teeth. "I'm glad," she says, carefully and deliberately, "I could keep you safe."

"And I'm glad you're fighting the fight to keep the Dread Lord out of the city," Devella answers gravely.

She takes a few steps over to Dolor's body and peers down at him thoughtfully. "I was on my way to the Upper City when I heard a commotion," she goes on. "I stepped in to see if I could help." She looks up at Rakha with a flicker of a rueful smile. "It's not every day you have the chance to catch a killer in action, not even in this profession. You, on the other hand - you've probably seen your fair share of murders since you discovered your heritage."

If it's meant to be a joke, it doesn't really land. Rakha just stares at her unblinkingly until she clears her throat awkwardly and goes on. "We can question the assailant later, once he comes round, but I think I have it now."

(A/N: Pretty sure the assailant is big dead, Devella, but you're welcome to have a go.)

She begins to tick items off one by one on her fingers. "These killings aren't random. In fact, they seem to be part of some sort of test. That document you showed me before - the one with the victims' names on it? That was the briefing. The killers paralyze their victims, take their hands as an offering for Bhaal, and make it look like the cult of the Absolute was behind it all. It offers access to the 'tribunal' - an initiation rite, held by your Father's acolytes, that brings a new cultist into the fold. And it's taking place beneath 'Candulhallow's Tombstones,'" she finishes triumphantly.

In other circumstances, this would no doubt be an impressive display of deduction. Unfortunately for Devella, literally every one of these things is something Rakha already knows. So Rakha just continues to stare at her expectantly, seeming not to notice as the silence draws out awkwardly.

Devella squints at her cautiously after the pause has stretched a while. "Perhaps they've even asked you to undertake this gruesome sacrament."

(A/N: This is unfortunately one of those moments where none of the available dialog options really quite fit Rakha. The closest thing to an explanation of her intentions is I must find a hand, so I can infiltrate the tribunal and tear it down from within. But to be honest, Rakha isn't really thinking that broadly. Her concern, first and foremost, is finding Lae'zel, and then taking Orin out of the equation. It's not really a concerted effort to bring down the Bhaalist cult. Everything else is, at the moment, an afterthought.

So we're going to take a little artistic license here and adjust the line a little for clarity.)

Rakha shrugs slightly. "I need a hand to enter the tribunal. From there, I have to find the temple," she says curtly. "They have my--" A pause. "My friend."

Devella's eyebrows lift in sudden understanding, and she looks down at the body of the dead dwarf. "Technically," she says pensively, "I haven't yet done an inventory of this crime scene. So... if something were to go missing from a corpse..."

(A/N: OK, so now you admit Dolor is not going to be 'coming round'? Or are you trying to suggest we cut a hand off someone you think is still alive? Make up your mind, Devella! Bit sloppy writing there. XD )

She lets out a heavy breath, and her eyes meet Rakha's with a troubled expression. "You're brave, spawn, to put yourself into the heart of the Hells like that," she says with quiet sincerity. "Braver than us all. But you're just one sword against a god. Are you sure you're up to it?"

Rakha closes her eyes against a sudden stab of pain through her head. Devella is right, of course - in going after Lae'zel, she is at bottom talking about deliberately standing against the god whose blood runs in her own veins. But... there's also no other choice.

"I don't know,"(*) she admits gruffly, opening her eyes and staring down at the blood puddles slowly soaking into the carpet.

Devella studies her for a moment, then nods. "A word of advice, then, if I may. Infiltrate the cult. Deceive your father's lackeys. If Bhaal believes he has you, they will let down their guard. There's bound to be one moment where he trips up, and you see a way to stand against him.'

Rakha considers this. In truth, she hadn't really formulated a particular plan for what to do once they've found the Bhaalist temple, but knowing her, the most likely strategy would be to run in, blasting fire in all directions, and hope for the best. Deception and subterfuge are, to put it mildly, not her strong suit.

But perhaps Devella has a point. Pretend to be under the beast's thrall long enough to get close before striking. Perhaps it's a better chance. Perhaps it will help keep Lae'zel alive...

The only worry is that she very well might start to believe herself. And then all would be lost...

She nods wordlessly.

Devella relaxes and manages another slight smile. "I don't know what will happen to the Gate if you don't," she says gravely. "But I do know that you're damn well the best hope we have. In the meantime I'm going to Basilisk Gate. I'll try to drum up some support - and warn as many important people as possible. Hope I can yell loud enough."

She turns to start walking out of the boutique - but Rakha's hand flashes out, catches her by the shoulder, halts her in her tracks. For a moment wariness flashes through Devella's eyes - but she doesn't pull away, just waits, watching Rakha carefully.

"Thank you," Rakha mutters. "For believing in me."

Devella smiles crookedly, draws back, and offers her a Fist salute. "See you around, Bhaalspawn," she says lightly. "Stay alive for me, won't you?"

-----

(*) Another slight dialogue tweak. In-game line is "I really don't know if I'm up to it..."

[landmarkprintt]

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[thegiantangryrobot]

JUNK MAIL - ARCHIVE [ DRUM & BASS ] Junkmail - "Archive": High-octane D&B banger. Modern production, classic vibes. Spotify https://ift.tt/JfNOqtC JUNK MAIL Spotify: https://ift.tt/OejdhY4 SoundCloud: https://ift.tt/cVyAi8o Instagram: https://ift.tt/ybm1MLZ Junkmail returns with "Archive," a high-octane bit of drum and bass that seamlessly blends the new and the nostalgic. Expect a barrage of meticulously crafted breakbeats, a thunderous, futuristic bassline, and razor-sharp synth work, all while paying homage to the timeless elements that define the genre. So many videos in the queue. Waiting on the edge of my seat for the new 50 Series GPUs to start getting benchmarked and reviewed. Poor 4060 ti be overworked. Here's hoping we can continue to crank up production going through 2025. Thanks as always hombres. Will have a couple more uploads this weekend, need to re-work the playlists too so stay tuned for that. The Giant Angry Robot Spotify Playlist (more playlists coming soon) https://ift.tt/8S4fm0U via YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3NZ5jr1lTLw

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

TROPHY ;; Short fic. Romantic/Established Relationship. Suggestive. You get ambushed and kidnapped by the enemy, Ambessa finds you in a rather.. precarious position.

11.24.24 Masterlist

The battlefield was a long-abandoned fortress, its walls crumbling but still defiant against the passage of time. Ambessa’s forces swept through the area like a tide, their boots crunching over broken stone and debris.

Her focus, however, was razor-sharp, every fiber of her being trained on one thing: you.

She’d been searching for days, combing through reports and interrogating scouts, her patience worn thin. Her worry, an emotion she rarely allowed herself to feel, had settled into a tight knot in her chest. But as she stepped into the central hall of the fortress, flanked by her soldiers, her worry gave way to something else entirely.

There you were.

Strung up like a prized trophy, your arms tied above your head, your legs bound and suspended just enough to keep you helpless but not harmed. The ropes around you were taut, emphasizing the curve of your armor and the defiance in your expression.

Ambessa froze for a moment, taking in the sight of you, the grip on her signature spear loosening. You were alive—more than that, you were healthy. There wasn’t a scratch on you, not even a dent in your armor.

You, however, looked utterly mortified.

“Ambessa,” you said quickly, your voice muffled slightly by embarrassment. You tugged at your restraints, attempting to fix your embarrassing position. “I can explain.”

Her soldiers shifted uneasily, unsure whether to free you or await her command. Ambessa held up a hand, silencing them.

Her soldiers took that as a queue to leave.

“You can explain?” she repeated, her voice rich with amusement. She stepped closer, her heavy boots echoing in the chamber. “Oh, please. Do.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing as you tried to tug against the ropes. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Her lips twitched, and a low chuckle escaped her.

“Isn’t it?” she asked, her mismatched eyes glinting with intent as she circled you, like a predator inspecting its prey. “Because it looks to me like the enemy found you… captivating.”

“Ambessa, please,” you hissed, wishing you were instead just killed off.

She stopped in front of you, her hands on her hips. Her towering figure loomed over you, making your predicament feel even more ridiculous.

“Oh, no. I’m not letting this go so easily. You’ve been missing for days. I tore through every lead, crossed enemy lines, and now I find you…” Her gaze swept over you, lingering just enough to make you squirm. “…like this.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. What could you say? You’d been ambushed, captured, and instead of being tortured or killed, you’d been turned into some kind of twisted display, a trophy.

“They wanted to taunt you,” you muttered finally, your voice barely audible.

Ambessa leaned in slightly, her smirk widening. “Well, they’ve certainly succeeded in catching my attention.”

You glared at her, though the heat in your cheeks made it less effective. “Can you just cut me down already?”

“Not yet,” she said, crossing her arms as she tilted her head. “I’m curious. Did they think this would humiliate you? Or me?” Her tone was playful, but there was an edge of possessiveness beneath it.

You shifted uncomfortably, the ropes creaking slightly. “Both, probably.”

“Fools,” she said, her voice dropping to a low growl. “If they wanted to break me, they should have harmed you. Instead…” Her eyes roamed over you again, deliberately slow. “They’ve only reminded me of how desirable you are.”

Your eyes widened, and your face burned hotter than ever.

“Ambessa—”

“What?” she asked innocently, though the glint in her eyes was anything but. “I’m merely appreciating their craftsmanship. They’ve… accentuated your best features.”

You groaned, tilting your head back in exasperation. “This is mortifying.”

“Is it?” she asked, stepping even closer. Her hand reached out to tilt your chin back down, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Because I find it quite… intriguing.”

Her voice was low now, intimate, meant only for you.

Ambessa leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear.

“You wear this look well,” she murmured, her tone a mixture of teasing and genuine admiration. “Perhaps I’ll have something similar commissioned when we get home.”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed, evidently steaming from the sheer humiliation.

She chuckled, her breath warm against your skin. “Oh, I dare.”

Finally, she raised her spear, swiftly cutting you down. You collapsed into her arms, your legs unsteady from hours of suspension, you were sure they left marks on your skin.

She held you easily, carrying you out of the enemy's fortress, her smirk never wavered. “You’re mine,” she said softly, for your ears alone. “No enemy’s taunts can change that.”

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

[fontilan]

Mannequins in their stillness, hold the weight of stories untold. Their attire, the remnants of lives once lived. A memory stirs, a queue under the neon glow of a club. The doorman, his gaze sharp, his words a razor's edge. 'Savile Row,' a compliment, a critique, a judgement. The thrill, the uncertainty, the intoxicating dance with the possible, all in the mannequins' silent vigil. We too are more than what meets the eye. A collection of stories, of moments, each one a testament to resilience. And so we wait, like the mannequins, for our moment, our acceptance, our chance to step again into the spotlight.

[221bshrlocked]

Fever in my Eyes

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Reader

Words: 8.5K (yeesh)

Warnings: Smut and Angst, my two faves. Blindfold. Breeding Kink!!! Things are consensual from both sides but since this is a sex pollen fic, some of you might consider it as non/con so please proceed with caution.

Summary: Felucia was not an ideal planet to track a quarry on and you find yourself in a sticky situation when you lose sight of the Mandalorian for a moment. An unexpected standoff between Mando and the bounty leads to you escaping back to the Razor Crest, unaware of the pollen which seeped into your nostrils and past your skin. What will the bounty hunter do once he realizes what you’re asking of him? And more importantly, is it worth risking whatever relationship he has with you?

A/N: As always, I am shit with summaries. It’s a sex pollen fic yall. I apologize if my smut isn’t as good as it used to be, I am trying. Also, please please please let me know how I did in the comments. This is only my second ever Star Wars fic and I was very reluctant to post it but Pedro Pascal made me do it because I cannot stop thinking of the man so here it is. Seriously, tell me how I did and what I can do to better my writing. There will be more Din Djarin fics to come :) Enjoy. And this is not beta’d!

This was not an ideal situation, but it never was. At least not ever since you took the ‘glorified babysitter’ position offered so graciously to you months ago. A short snort made its way past your lips as you walked through the greenery and recalled how you came into caring for the child currently biting and playing with your necklace. You looked down and smiled at him, not bothering to stop him from chewing down on the colorful jewels because you knew for a fact that if Mando heard you criticizing him over something so trivial, he might scold him and make him pout. Maker, the little womp rat made it so hard to be angry with him, let alone attempt to teach him some proper manners. 

So busy playing with the Child, you didn’t notice when the bounty hunter suddenly came to a halt ahead of you. You walked right into his back and stumbled backwards, apologizing immediately when he turned around and tilted his visor to the side. You’ve grown to learn what each tild meant and at the moment, he was definitely a tad bit annoyed with you. 

“S-sorry, I’ll pay attention.” Smiling awkwardly at the man in front of you, you waited until he turned around before narrowing your eyes at the kid currently giggling at your mistake. It was amazing how often he did that, almost as if he knew he was purposely getting you in trouble for his own entertainment. 

“So you never actually told me why this bounty was so important,” your eyes searched your surroundings and marveled at the lush reaching all the way to the top of the strange trees, barely noticing the way the Mandalorian’s shoulders tensed before continuing to walk towards the edge of the forest. If there even was an edge to this jungle. Maker, this was such a weird planet, it smelled weird, it was too hot and too wet, and you sensed there was something strange with all the exotic plants beneath your feet.

When he didn’t respond, you slowly put the Child down and reached inside your satchel for a drink. As soon as the kid noticed the satchel, he waddled back to you and pulled on your cloak until you brought out his favorite blue biscuits. 

“All I’m saying is, this bounty is weird. Who hides all the way out here anyways? I mean I have never heard of this place-”

“You’ve said that about the last four quarries.” You didn’t expect him to respond and eyed him cautiously, looking between him and the kid who continued to eat his snacks and understood absolutely nothing of what you were saying. A shiver ran down your spine when you noticed the way he put the tracking fob back in his pocket before slowly reaching for the blaster pistol. Reflexes instantly kicking in, you hurried to the Child and snatched him off the ground, shushing his little coos and preparing for the worst case scenario which was always, somehow, what transpired.

Silence filled the humid air and you tried to read the bounty hunter’s body language, knowing very well he was not one to say anything unless it was perhaps a little too late for you. His visor dragged through the dried prints on the grass and before you knew it, he was taking off towards the edge of the purple and pink plants. As you followed him, you felt your throat dry much quicker than usual. Thinking it was just the extreme weather of Felucia, you decided it was best to slow down and wait until the Mandalorian caught the bounty before following his path. He’d even told you once to not follow him if you ever saw him running off because that usually meant he was close to the quarry and wouldn’t need your aid. It was a little insulting in the beginning but you were caught during a shoot-out one too many times and understood he was only trying to look out for you and the kid. 

But not even a full minute passed before you heard a sudden blast sound off from the trees above you and before you could figure out what was happening, a heavy weight landed on top of you, and you watched in horror as the kid flew out of your hand into a nearby puddle. 

Trying your hardest to grab the blaster on your hip, you cried out in pain when you felt talons digging into your arms and twist them back. You didn’t know what else to do, eyes scanning the trees in hopes of finding the Mandalorian rushing towards you. But when you realized he was nowhere around, you looked at the kid and prayed he was alright. When you saw his large eyes blinking a few times before struggling to sit up, you knew there was only one outcome. 

“Make a sound, and I will feast on your organs.” The stench of the creature filled your nostrils and you sobbed quietly at the implications behind his words. Taking one last look at the kid, you took a deep breath and pushed off the ground as hard as you can.

“MANDO!” As soon as you screamed his name, you felt three talons break the skin of your shoulder blades and drag all the way down to your lower back. You felt hot tears roll down your cheeks and hated how distressed the Child looked. Almost on queue, he was standing up and trying to waddle your way, refusing to listen to your little objections as you tried to tell him to run the opposite direction. 

Before you could dwell on the many different ways you were about to die, you heard a large blast sound through the forest, throwing the creature off of you against one of the trees with a loud cracking noise. You looked up just in time to see the familiar glint of beskar coming closer through the greenery and as you tried to stand up, you felt the same weight behind you again, twisting the talons into your hair and pulling you to your feet. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat when you felt the edge of the hunting knife against your throat. Eyes unable to focus on the figures in front of you, you blinked a few times and realized there were too many sensations hitting you. But the one seemingly outdoing all the others was the growing wet patch on your back and you soon felt sharp pain growing against your skin where the strange liquid rolled down your skin. You weren’t sure if it was blood or if it was drool from the thing behind you and a part of you didn’t care because what difference would it make. 

“Should have known you were the only crazy one to come here...come after me.” A slithering whisper made its way past your ears and your knees buckled as you started to feel faint. But then the creature held you up roughly and pressed the knife harder against your throat, warning you against falling to the ground.

“Your problem is with me T'doshok. Let her go.” You vaguely saw the Child walk towards his father, relief washing over you when you knew he was safe once more. At some point, you’ve come to care more for him than for yourself and you were never sure if it was because he was so precious or because of how important he was to the Mandalorian. 

“Aren’t we past formalities Mando? At least do me the honor of saying my name...old friend.” 

Your gaze immediately shifted from the kid to the beskar-clad man standing in front of him. So they knew each other? Why didn’t he tell you? Did he still not trust you to know such matters until now?

“ Ni Kelir kyr'amur gar meh gar vaabir not ba'slanar kaysh.” You heard the Mandalorian growl through the visor and even though you didn’t understand what he said, you knew it was anything but friendly. Wait, that meant the T'doshok behind you understood Manod’a. 

A sob escaped your throat when you felt the bounty laugh behind you at the warning. 

“You can’t possibly mean that Mando.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there was a hint of surprise etched in the voice growling in your ear.

“Ni vaabir not baatir te waadas...believe me.” The conscious part of your brain wondered why he continued to speak in Mando’a. He knew you didn’t understand much of it…

The silence was almost deafening and you weren’t sure what was happening until your boss stepped forward and tilted his helmet to the side,

“Gedet'ye.” The modulated voice sounded strange to your ears. He was only ever this softly-spoken with the Child.

“Well, this is unexpected. In that case-” You didn’t have time to react, watching as the world twirled around you before you fell among the purple and pink flowers you were so impressed by earlier. A strange scent hit your nostrils but you couldn’t dwell on it for more than a few seconds. Willing yourself to stand up, you pushed off the ground as soon as you saw the kid waddling towards you. As soon as he tried to walk behind you, you knew what he was trying to do and picked him up before he could do anything.

“No little guy...you- I can’t...I need to make sure you’re okay.” You could faintly hear the sound of blasters going off for a few moments and by the time you managed to take the gun out of your holster, you saw the Mandalorian standing above an unconscious reptilian creature. So that’s what a T'doshok is…

Slowly making your way towards them, you blinked away the tears and wiped your eyes to try and clear your sight. 

“Ad'ika, are you alright?” You shivered at the tone Mando was using with you. Dank Ferrik, you must have hit your head pretty hard if you thought the Mandalorian was worried about anyone but the green little thing in your arms.

“I- yes. I’ll be f-fine. Just-” You hadn’t meant to react the way you have but as soon as you felt his gloved hand touch your neck, you jerked away from him and held out your hand to stop him from coming any closer to you. Mando was shocked at your reaction and was glad to have something to hide behind. A few seconds passed in silence and you were still staring at him with wide open eyes and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were afraid of him. It occurred to him that it wasn’t shock that beat at his heart but a deep and twisting sense of hurt. And when he scanned your body language, he could tell you were trembling in front of him and the last thing he wanted to do was to give you another reason to fear him.

“Can you walk back to the-”

“Yes. I’ll- fu...I’ll take the kid.” Before he could say anything else, you were clutching the Child closer to your chest and walking back to the Razor Crest. You searched your mind to try and understand why you reacted the way you have to his touch but couldn’t find anything to explain the sharp pain striking through your insides. It was too much too quickly. Even though it wasn’t his skin, you felt neurons firing simultaneously as soon as he trailed his fingers down your neck. You hoped to the gods he wasn’t offended by your reaction because the last thing you needed was to drive him further away from you.

Barely making it back to the ship, you managed to go up the ladder and put the Child back in his crib in the cockpit before shutting it and locking the door behind you. Scrambling inside your mind for a moment, you turned to the ramp and walked towards the hatch before pushing in the code until it sealed shut. 

In an instant, everything touching your skin was too rough and incredibly heavy. Before you could think twice about it, you were violently stripping out of your clothes, throwing them to the ground on your way to the refresher. As soon as you walked into the small room, you turned on the cold water and sighed heavily as it beat down on your heated skin. 

“Not enough…” Crying to the empty room, you made sure the hot water wasn’t on before leaning back against the cool tiles of the walls. But no sooner than that were you hissing and pushing off of the wall. You completely forgot about the open gashes on your back and the shooting pain was almost instantaneous when you remembered just how large the wound was.

As you dwelled on the last hour or so, you felt your legs give out on you and before you knew it, you were sliding down to the floor. Eyes shutting slowly, you fell to the side and let the cold water run down your form. And as hard as you tried to stay awake, you couldn’t help your mind’s request as it begged to rest. You let sleep wash over you, the last sound ringing in your ear was Mando’s worried voice asking if you were okay.

Back outside, the bounty hunter was fuming with anger, not caring about how oddly violent he became with the quarry. He was never one to beat an unconscious being but something took over him when he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks. As he pushed his way through the forest, he thought back to the way you looked up at him with those innocent eyes. And he hated himself for the way his body reacted to your fragile body.

“Ni’duraa.” He whispered to himself when he saw the Crest come into view, continuing to pull the T'doshok until he walked up the ramp and onto the ship. It was awfully quiet but he decided to freeze the reptile before he walked around to look for you. Minutes later, he was ascending the ladder to the cockpit, unlocking it and reaching for the crib on his pilot chair. When he opened it and saw the kid cooing in his sleep, he shut it once more and left to look for you. It was strange how he couldn’t hear a single sound. You were normally talkative after a mission, and as he placed his weapons back on the wall, he noticed your clothes lying haphazardly on the ground. Mando sighed heavily as he picked them up, flushing violently when he saw the last two items leading into the refresher. Strange, you were never one to throw things around.

Not wanting to bother you anymore, he placed the clothes on your cot and ascended to the cockpit once more, wanting to leave Felucia as quickly as possible because he knew how the locals became when uninvited guests stayed for too long. As they left the sector, the Mandalorian couldn’t help but question why you were still in the refresher. You’d arrived long before him and it took him a while to navigate through the jungle because of how heavy the bounty was. 

Putting the ship on auto-pilot, he made his way to the refresher but not before noticing a strange scent fill his nostrils. Looking down at his hands, he noticed a bright purple powder covering his gloves and as soon as he brought his hands up to the edge of the visor, he was hit with many different sensations, all of which he could distinctively place back to you. Your honey-scented soap, the orange tea he saw you constantly drinking, the smell of your sweat on a particularly hot day when you tried to fix the ship...

“Fuck…” He swore before wiping his gloves against his cloak and approached the refresher. 

Knocking on the door, he waited a few moments for a response and breathed impatiently when  you didn’t bother to say anything.

“Open up, Cyar'ika.” He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly using such endearing words to call for you and when he was met with more silence, he groaned in annoyance before warning you. “If you don’t open the door now, I will break it.” Normally, you would have clapped back with a snarky comment that would get his blood boiling but he knew something was wrong when you remained quiet. Throwing propriety out the window, he kicked the door open and walked in, eyes searching the small room until they fell on your unconscious form under the water. 

“Maker,” kneeling to the ground, his heart clenched when he saw a viscous, black liquid oozing out of the gash on your back. How did he not notice this when you left? Quickly reaching for the left knob, he swore when he noticed the hot water wasn’t even on and almost broke the other one as he tried to switch it off. Why would you take such a cold shower when you weren’t even on a desert planet? Wiping your hair away from your face, the Mandalorian tried to wake you and began to feel anxiety seep into his clothes along with the water cascading down your body when he realized this was much worse than he thought. He took off his gloves and pushed you onto your back, trying his hardest to avert his gaze from your naked skin as he bent down and carried you out of the refresher. 

Opening his quarters, he laid you on his covers before grabbing the anesthetic above him and turning you on your stomach to care for the wounds. As he sprayed your back, he noticed the way you groaned in your sleep and forced himself to attend to the task at hand. He hoped to the gods there wasn’t any poison in the wound before he grabbed the bacta spray and slowly made his way down the skin of your back. He sighed in relief when he noticed your skin slowly shifting and sealing itself, trying to calm his increasing heart rate when he remembered just how fragile and naked you were beneath him. Some sick part of him was attracted to you even in such a state and he wished more than anything for you to be awake and willing to-

This is not how he pictured seeing you for the first time.

When you started shifting beneath him, he kneeled away from you and covered your legs, continuing to care for the wound on your lower back until it started to close as well. By the time he put all the medication back in its place, you were turning around and moaning in discomfort and Mando realized it was because you were probably still freezing from the cold water. Taking off his cloak, he barely draped it on your sleeping form when you pushed it off and turned on your back. He felt the fabric of his pants tighten around his crotch and looked away from you.

“Please...too- too much. I can’t-” He couldn’t understand what you were trying to say and moved to place the cloak on you again, head instantly turning to your face when you smacked the offensive object away from him and began to trail your fingers down your skin. He hadn’t meant to and before he could stop himself, he was watching as your fingers made their way down to your hips before dipping into the space between your thighs.

Maker be damned, how were you so glistening and flushed?

“M-Mando?” His eyes snapped to your face and watched as you spread your legs until he positioned between them. “Mando I need...you. I need you please, this is- it hurts. I can’t...it hurts so much. Please h-help me.” Your voice was filled with dangerous requests, and he felt his cock twitch in his pants when he saw the way you reached for his thighs and dragged your nails down to his knees. 

“Cyare, you don’t know what you’re asking.” He forced himself to keep his gaze on your face and nowhere else. But with every passing moment, the need to look at where he’d dreamt of feasting on for so many nights outgrew his respect for you. 

“Mando...I want you, n-need you...please, I promise I’ll be good. So so good for you, just- oh maker I-”

The small part of his brain that wasn’t ruled by his pulsing cock finally figured out what was happening and he growled as he pushed off of you and out to your cot. Grabbing your shirt, he turned it around and saw the same purple powder that was on his gloves coloring the whole front of your cloak. He recalled back to what happened when he left you and remembered where the T'doshok pushed you before he attacked him. 

Of course. The pollen from the spore plants.

Which meant that-

“Oh fuck.” The Mandalorian felt his insides churn when he realized what was taking place not ten feet away from him, and he felt his heart skip a beat when he knew what could potentially happen to you if your...needs weren't properly met. With reluctance, he made his way back to his sleeping cot and felt his chest tighten when he saw what you were doing.

You were on your side, fingers rubbing furiously at your soaking core and whimpering at the consistent and harsh touches passing through your nerves. But it wasn’t the mess you were making that caught his attention. No, it was the fact that you had his cowl twisted between your thighs and around your back. He watched in awe as you pushed your face into the rough material, taking in deep breaths to try and fill your nostrils with his scent. Taking one step closer to you, his eyes bore into your heated skin and he choked on air when he saw you lick at the hood of the cloak before taking your fingers out of your cunt and replacing them with his cowl. He couldn’t believe his eyes and the thought of wearing it around with your scent sticking to it broke him. 

Mando looked around the ship for a few moments in an attempt to think of what he should do. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, he approached your slowly and gasped when he met your eyes and saw the way you were looking at him.

“M-mando! Please...fuck me. I- I need you to...don’t c-care how. I promise I’ll do anything, wh-whatever you want...ple-please.” Chills ran down your spine when you forced yourself to throw the cowl away. Turning around, you laid on your stomach and took a deep breath before raising your lower half off of the covers. As you rested your head on your arm and bit into your wrist, you looked back to the beskar-clad man, silently pleading with him while swaying your ass in the air. 

“Gota'la…” Before the Mandalorian could talk himself out of it, he was kicking his heavy shoes away and making his way closer to you. A part of him screamed that of the two of you, he was the one less affected by the pollen and was technically responsible for whatever transpired next. And he was close to asking you if you were sure you wanted to take this further if it weren’t for the way you reached beneath you and faintly trailed your fingers through your soaking slit. 

“Ad'ika, gar cuyir mesh'la.” He was speaking to himself more than to you and smiled to himself when he noticed your cunt clenching around nothing as soon as his words filled the silence. “Sweet girl, you like it when I speak to you in Mando’a?” You shivered at his tone and found it difficult to respond to him, especially when you could tell he was definitely not looking at you but at the mess you were making on his bed. A loud cry rang through the small room when you felt his hand come down on your backside before squeezing the flushed skin. 

“I asked you a question Cyar'ika.” His deep and modulated voice only made it worse and you found yourself nodding at him before whispering out a low ‘yes.’

“K'olar,” you squealed when you felt Mando twirl your around onto your back before pulling your naked body flush to his still-clothed one. You were about to beg him to just fuck you already when he shoved two of his fingers into your mouth to shush you. You moaned shamelessly around his fingers, whining even louder when you realized you were sucking on his calloused skin and not on the gloves he almost never took off unless he was alone. 

“You’re going to come just like this sweet girl.” Mando manhandled you until you were straddling one of his thighs, growling impatiently when you tried to push yourself away from him. His arm tightened around your waist, pushing you down on the beskar cuisse until you finally understood what he wanted from you.

“C-cold…”

“Be a good girl and drench my armor little one. Let me walk around with the memory of your cunt dripping on me.” His words hit too close to your somewhat aware mind and you chose to dwell on their meaning later. Softly inching your hands onto his shoulders, you fisted your fingers into his shirt to support your weight before dragging yourself against the rugged and cool beskar in between your thighs. As you threw your head back and sighed in pleasure, Mando couldn’t help but squeeze the heated skin of your hip, knowing very well there would soon be fingerprint marks wherever he touched you. 

“That’s it...could smell how much you want me Cyare. Can’t believe you’re in my arms...look at you, using my thighs to get off.” You barely managed to turn your attention to him, lips still enclosed around his fingers and biting down on them the more he shoved them in your mouth.

“Mando I- I need to-” Before you could finish your request, Mando was wrapping the other arm around hips and violently dragging you against his cuisse, looking down to watch as your juices dripped on his beskar armor. 

“What a sight…” He groaned and turned his gaze towards you again just in time to watch you fall apart on him. He marveled at how quickly he brought you to pleasure and figured it must have been the pollen making you extra sensitive to his ministrations. Wanting to stretch out your pleasure for as long as possible, he threw you back onto his bed and pushed your thighs open, not giving you a chance to question him as he shoved two fingers into your cunt and massaged that spongy spot deep inside you. You arched your back and grasped at his arms, barely managing to look at the visor just as he increased pressure and fucked you with his fingers. 

“M-MANdo oh g-gods-”

“Scream my name sweet girl, and only my name.” Had you actually listened to what he said, you would have sassed back at him and told him you didn’t actually know his name. But you couldn’t care less at the moment, digging your fingers into his forearms as you came around his thick fingers, repeatedly praying his “name” until you couldn’t remember anything else.

“Mesh'la...you’re so tight and warm for me...that’s it, squeeze my fingers like the good little girl you are.” Mando watched as you came around his fingers, his eyes not knowing where to look and wishing he could taste the sweat sticking on your neck as you whimpered beneath him. 

He heard it before he felt it, moaning in blind lust as he took in the sight beneath him. Your legs shook violently as you, quite literally, drenched his thighs and blankets with your cum and Mando didn’t know if he wanted to lick you dry or stuff his nose into your pulsating cunt. 

“Sweet fucking darling, look at the mess you’ve made,” you shivered when you felt his fingers leave your slit, blinking hazily and turning to look at where he was staring. When you saw what he was referring to, you quickly covered yourself and tried to move away from him, embarrassment washing over you when you saw the way he was so obviously staring at the wetness dripping down your. But Mando was much quicker than you, grabbing your thighs and pushing them wide open again before laying in between them and dragging his crotch across your sensitive clit. 

“Never hide from me,” you nodded instantly and the Mandalorian would never admit feeling his chest fill with pride at the lust-filled fear he instilled into you with only a few words. Your chest heaved as you continued to look into the visor, almost whimpering when you were met with incredibly dazed eyes and messy hair staring right back at you. It was quiet for a few moments, the only proof that Mando was very much aware of your state being the hardness twitching against your sensitive cunt. 

Mando wasn’t sure what to do with you. He wanted to simultaneously fuck you into the next system and lick every inch of you until you couldn’t take it anymore. “I can smell your cunt Ad'ika...can almost taste your neediness.”

“Ma-mando I- I want you to r-” You felt so naked beneath him, wishing he’d at least take off his clothes before this went any further. Not a single care was given to his helmet and it was out of the question to even attempt and ask him if he could take it off. You just wanted to feel his skin sliding against yours as he fucked you. Nothing else mattered. Just his scarred and sweaty muscles contracting and trailing over your own. 

“What is it sweet girl?” His voice felt like a thousand needles piercing your soul and you didn’t realize where your hands were moving until you felt him roughly grab your wrists and slam them above your head. You could tell there was a shift in the air around you and ceased to breathe when you no longer heard his moans. 

“This is the way.” Those four words hurt you more than they should have. 

“I- I would never ask you to...I swear I just wanted- I wanted to touch you. Not take it off...please I-” Mando felt his heart shatter into a million pieces because somehow, even in your most inebriated state, you respected him. You put him before yourself. And he ceased to breathe when he sat up and watched as you grabbed at his arms and refused to let go.

“N-no don’t go...I need you- d-don’t leave me pl-” Your breathing was erratic and the Mandalorian feared you’d spiral into shock. Without thinking much of his next moves, he grabbed the nearest item of clothing and ripped a small piece of it, returning to rest between your knees and not giving you a choice as he wrapped the band around your eyes and tied it in the back. You trailed your fingers over the band and pulled away instantly when you felt his the hair on his wrist. 

“I’m sorry…” Mando thought of your actions so far and knew in his heart that if there was ever another who’d look upon him, it would be you. Softly taking your hands in his, he pulled them towards his helmet and rested them at the side.

“T-take it off.”

“I can’t...Mando, you don’t have to- I swear I was only-” As hard as it was to say those words, you wanted him to know that he owed you nothing. And you hated how selfish you were being in that moment because the man was trying to tell you something and you were only worrying about yourself and how much your cunt ached for him. You were so close to pushing him on his back and taking your pleasure from him but something told you it would be worth the wait. 

“Mesh'la, I want you to.” You always marveled at how much the Mandalorian could convey in only a few words and shouldn’t have been surprised when you felt just how much he was willing to put his trust in you. Not wanting to scare him, you slowly pulled on the visor until it was completely off, remaining motionless as he took it from your hands and placed it on the floor. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do with your hands so you kept them to the side, fisting your fingers into the blankets to prevent you from reaching out and touching his face. 

Mando could tell you wanted to touch him. You even told him yourself. So he made the decision for you and leaned down, passing his lips over your forehead and smiling down at you when he heard you suck in a breath. You gasped when you felt his beard tickle your cheeks. He had a beard. Of course he had a beard. But as he continued to leave kisses over your face, you realized it wasn’t really a full-grown beard. It didn’t matter in the end because he was driving you insane with every small pass of his plump lips near where you wanted him.

As he finally molded his lips with yours, you felt him pull your hands up to his face and lay them on his cheeks, the groan escaping his throat letting you know he enjoyed you touching him as much as you, perhaps even more. The kiss grew frantic the more you explored his naked skin, and you couldn’t hold back the long moan that erupted into his mouth as soon as you felt him suck on your tongue. When you pulled on his soft hair, Mando couldn’t help but growl into the heated kiss, not caring for how rough he was being as he grabbed and squeezed your thighs. 

But the kiss was over as soon as it began and you whined after him when you felt him pull away from you. You felt your fingers ascend to your face but remembered why the Mandalorian blindfolded you in the first place. Not wanting to lose his trust, you pushed your arms beneath your back to prevent any temptations from taking place. Unbeknownst to you, Mando was watching every little muscle twitch on your nude form and he almost devoured you right then and there when he saw you quickly moving your fingers from your face. 

He was amazed by how caring you were even when you didn’t hold any proper level of the right consciousness. Anyone else would have removed the cloth and blamed the pollen. But not you. 

You were special. 

Refusing to waste any more time, Mando made quick work of the beskar armor, not caring about the mess he was making just outside his room. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, smiling when he noticed you shivering beneath his gaze. He was on you as soon as he deposited his long-sleeve and pants, devouring your mouth and digging his fingers into your waist as he rutted against you. 

“Ner-” 

The possessiveness was almost palpable and he surprised even himself at the single syllable. Since when was he like this?

“Mando,” you whispered his name as you wrapped your arms around his back and pulled him flush against you, sighing in relief when you felt the hair of his chest tickle your nipples. Mando noticed your reaction and instantly descended on your heaving chest, biting and licking and pinching at the hardened buds until you begged him to slow down.

“Ni'm liser't...taylir norac. You’re so fucking delicious.” The way he effortlessly switched between his mother tongue and Basic shouldn’t have turned you on this much and yet you were. 

“Fuck me.” Your words were dripping with desperation and the Mandalorian wasn’t able to hold any longer. He wanted to take his time with you, commit every little curve to memory. Memorize what made your breath hitch and what made you sigh. 

But the request ended all of his curiosity and before you knew it, you felt him roughly pull down on his boxer briefs. You flushed when you heard the sound of his hand jerking his cock, mouth falling wide open when it jutted at your inner thighs and you felt how fucking hard and thick it was. 

“What will it be sweet girl? You want me to make love to you,” he paused for a moment and took advantage of your distracted expression, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet slit and biting his lips when he felt you arch against him at the simple yet filthy movement. “Or fuck you like I own you…like you’re mine.”

Hearing him say ‘fuck’ in such a vulgar tone did it for you and you didn’t know what to do with yourself except widen your legs more for him and grab the bed sheets beneath you.

“F-fuck me like you own me Mando...ruin me. Take what you want and- oh maker you’re so- so...fu- please, u-use me however you want. Just- I need your cock. Need to cum on your cock...can’t wait anym-”

Mando was sure he broke you with his words, watching in awe as you begged and begged until you couldn’t breathe anymore. There was no warning, no asking if you were ready for him. There was just your wet cunt teasing him until he couldn’t bear the thought of not being deep inside your pussy.

Resting his head against yours, he took his painfully hard cock in his hand and shoved it past your wet lips, letting out a deep growl as he felt you scratch his back.

“Mando, Mando, M-mando…”

You didn’t find the strength to think of a proper sentence to express what you were feeling so you opted to pray his name over and over again. He was shaking above you and you knew instantly he was trying his hardest not to break you.

“Take what you want- I...I won’t break.” 

Just hearing you say those words to him almost made him cum right then and there. You were returning the trust he gave you and he knew there was no way of putting this moment behind him even if he tried. 

Pulling out until only the head of his cock was splitting you open, Mando bucked his hips violently back into you, whispering the filthiest promises into your ears as he set a rough pace that had you seeing worlds you didn’t even know existed. 

“So, fucking, tight...how are you so wet and tight for me Cyare?” It took you a while to realize you were hearing his voice without the modulator of his mask. How had you not noticed how beautifully sinful it was when he first took it off? You wanted to tell him how much you loved hearing his thick and smooth voice. You wanted to kiss down his neck and bite onto his shoulders. You wanted to push him down and force his cock inside your throat. 

So much. You wanted so much. 

But you couldn’t find your voice in that moment. Not when he was railing into you with such an unforgiving force. 

“Made for me...made to take my cock. Such a sweet fucking girl- ah.” You should have known Mando would not be the quiet type in bed. He was a man of few words during his day-to-day life so of course he would take this chance and spill out his innermost thoughts. But it surprised you nonetheless considering how downright dirty his moans and whispers were. And you were sure he was as filthy, if not more, when he continued to speak in Mando’a. 

With every passing moment, you felt a piece of your heart split from your chest and slowly make its way into his hands. He was branding you, his cock reaching so deep inside you that you were sure you could feel him right below your navel if you only moved your hands against your skin. But you couldn’t afford to let go of him, not when he was using you just as you requested. 

“Mando you...maker, you’re filling me so- so good. I- please, can I cum? I want t- to cum. Been so good for you. Need to-” The chuckle that left his lips was sweet music to your ears until you realized he might be laughing at how pathetic you were. 

“Fucking gods Ad'ika...fill you up? Is that what you want sweet girl? You want me to- fuck, fuck...want me to fill you up with my cum? You’re killing me baby.” His voice was hoarse and he realized his mistake as soon as the words left his lips. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away from him. It was his deeped, darkest secret. He swore he would go to his grave with it. Too often he thought of breeding you, fucking you and fill you up until his cum leaked out of you and you couldn’t move. Too many nights he went to sleep thinking of what it would feel like to wake up with your sweet cunt still wrapped around his cock. What he’d give to ensure not a single drop went to waste. 

Too many days were spent dreaming of giving that little womp rat a sibling to run around with. 

Your silence didn’t go unnoticed by him and he was about to slow down when he felt your hands grab his ass and push you closer to him.

“Want your cum Mando...want you to cum inside me, fill me up until I can’t breathe...oh fuck, until I can’t feel anything but your cum hot and deep inside me. Fuck a baby inside me Mando I- oh oh gods I-” Mando couldn’t hold back anymore, violently pushing his cock inside you and swallowing your moans every time they echoed just a little louder than he preferred. He groaned in ecstasy when he looked down and saw pure bliss etched on your soft features. You clenched around him, thighs vibrating around his hips as he somehow drove into you harder and carried you past the point of pleasure. You didn’t know you were coming around him until you heard him whisper ‘good girl’ in your ears. And it sent a jolt down his spine when he continued to rut against you and fill the ship with the heavy sounds of skin slapping on skin. It was almost painful, the way he didn’t let up and continued to rail into you without a single care. 

“Mine...mine, fucking mine. That’s it sweet girl, feel me. Feel me marking your fucking soul.” He was a mumbling mess at this point and he wasn’t sure if it was because you were panting like an animal in heat or because of the way you desperately licked and kissed and nipped at his neck and lips. 

“Yes, I’m yours Mando. Yours...always have been.”

The heaviness of your words struck his heart instantly, and he shoved his cock so deep inside you he swore he could feel your heartbeat. Mando rested his head in the crook of your neck, biting harder than intended on your shoulder as hot spurts of cum coated your inner walls. You feel a sudden warmth wash over you and dug your nails into his ass as he thrust once, twice, three times before stilling completely. 

The two of you continued to breathe heavily against each other and when Mando moved his knees to get comfortable between your thighs, you unintentionally squeezed his cock and felt him twitch inside you.

“Ni chaabar gar, cyar'ika.” It was such a silent comment and you knew this was much different than everything he’d said thus far. Something about his tone told you he was spilling his heart out and you wished more than anything to ask him what he was saying but knew you shouldn’t...wouldn’t. Not unless you wanted him to continue and speak to you.

You were brought back from your thoughts when the Mandalorian kissed your lips, and you felt yourself drowning in his scent when he rubbed your hair and nudged your jaw with his nose.

“Gar cuyir too jaon'yc at ni. Ni liser't nibral gar.” Slowly, Mando wrapped his arms around you and rolled you over until you were practically sleeping on top of him. The two of you hissed when you felt his cock leave your heat and Mando wished more than anything to spread your thighs and watch as his cum leaked down your thighs. No worries, he’d do that later.

Later…

Oh what he would give for there to be a ‘later’ with you. 

The thought of not being able to have you again snapped him back to reality and he realized there was a very high chance this would never happen again because as far as he knew, this was only a consequence of the pollen.

Not wanting to bother you with his insecurities, Mando pushed your head down onto his chest and rubbed your shoulders, telling you to get some rest and to not worry about anything else. 

Hours later, Mando was waking up to a soft noise emitting from beneath him. As he rubbed his eyes and took in his surroundings, he looked down and noticed you were still very much naked and cold next to him. Pulling the covers over you, he allowed his eyes to feed on your curves before meeting your face. Dread filled his heart as soon as he saw the wet patch on the band around your eyes. 

You must have woken up and realized what happened. A thousand different scenarios flew through his mind and Mando knew that almost each one of them was caused by your regret of sleeping with him. 

“Ad'ika, are you alright?” When you didn’t respond and sniffed loudly, Mando knew he had to brace for the worst. 

“Please...are you hurt anywhere?” Hearing his pleas was what did it for you and you threw yourself into his chest. 

“Mando I- I took advantage of you. I’m so sorry, I- I didn’t know what was happening...I promise I- please don’t tell me to leave. I can’t leave you or the Child. I- I promise I’ll pretend this never happened. Just- don’t leave me. I can’t bear the thought of living without you...without him.”

Of all the things the Mandalorian thought he would hear from you, those were certainly the last to make the list. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so lucky with you? Not only did you refuse to take the blindfold off when you woke up but you genuinely thought you’d forced him into sleeping with you.

“Cyare, it hurts to see you cry. Come here.” Mando sat up against the cold metal wall, pulling you into his lap and wrapping the covers around you so you weren’t exposed to the cold air of the ship. 

“You didn’t take advantage of me sweet girl. If anything, I- I should be the one apologizing. I was not hit with the effects of the pollen as much as you have been and...and I should have refused your pleas. But you looked so beautiful, Cyar'ika. You prayed for me to have you and I- I was selfish. I was selfish and I couldn’t stop myself from sinking into you. Branding you. Being with you.” To say you were surprised by his words would have been the understatement of the century. 

The Mandalorian wanted you. He wanted to have you. He wanted to be with you. 

“I-I’ve wanted you for so long...spent so many nights dreaming of being with you.” You confessed to him before you could think of the meaning behind your words and you were met with a deep sigh and a kiss on the lips almost immediately. 

“How long Mesh'la?” 

“S-since Tatooine.” 

Mando’s heart skipped a beat at the short yet direct response. He’s only ever been to Tatooine once with you, months and months ago when he needed Peli to fix something on the Crest for him. You hadn’t even been with their group for three weeks then. So busy thinking of all the ways he could have had you since then, Mando didn’t notice how the silence affected you until your fingers twitched against his chest. 

“Mando?”

“That was eons ago.” It was more of a comment than a question and you weren’t sure if he was angry or surprised. 

“Is...is that bad?”

“Bad? No Ad'ika, not bad.” When he didn’t offer more of an explanation, you rested your head on his chest and continued to draw circles on his naked abdomen. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there in each others arms but the faint sounds of cooing and laughter snapped you out of your haze and you realized you should probably get up and make something for the kid to eat. Before you could move away from him however, Mando was bringing you closer to him and kissing you again. You knew you could never tire from feeling his lips mold and pass over yours and you welcomed his tongue with as much vigor as you could muster up.

As he pulled away, you smiled at him and wished more than anything to be able to see him smile back at you. 

“Din.”

“Hmm?”

“My name...it’s Din. Din Djarin.” 

Mando could see the exact moment you registered what he just said and he smirked to himself at how pretty you looked when something shocking took place. 

“Din.” You repeated his name silently, afraid this would all be a dream and that he didn’t actually just tell you something that was so important to him.

“You didn’t have to tell me…” You traced his jaw with your fingers and marveled at how oddly soft his beard was. 

“I didn’t, but I wanted to.” Din was silent for a few seconds before he flipped you beneath him and took hold of your wrists before slamming them harshly above your head. “I wanted you to know it, Mesh'la, so you could scream it the next time I fucked this sweet and tight cunt.” 

For a man of few words, he sure knew what to say to get you worked up again.

Translations: 

Ni Kelir kyr'amur gar meh gar vaabir not ba'slanar kaysh - I will kill you if you do not leave her.

Ni vaabir not baatir te waadas. - I do not care about the credits.

Gedet'ye. - Please.

Ad'ika - Little one

Ni’duraa! - You disgust me.

Cyar'ika - Darling/Sweetheart

Cyare - Beloved

Gota'la - Maker.

Gar cuyir mesh'la. - You are beautiful. 

K'olar - Come here.

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Ner - Mine.

Ni'm liser't...taylir norac. - I can’t...hold back.

Ni chaabar gar, cyar'ika. - I fear you, darling.

Gar cuyir too jaon'yc at ni. Ni liser't nibral gar. - You are too important to me. I can’t lose you.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Always Will Be - Ch 3

Pairing: Loki x TVA Agent!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ Only): Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Violence, Time Shenanigans, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Chapter Summary: Laufeyson begins to test his boundaries.

AO3

You stood in the waiting room and sipped tentatively at your hot coffee. It stung your lips and you frowned, almost a pout at the unfortunate temperature. At least it wasn’t lukewarm. The drinks at the TVA had that unfortunate effect.

Glancing down at your wristwatch, you blew on the scalding liquid and counted down the seconds.

3… 2… 1…

“—aaaah!!”

There was a crash and a thud from behind you.

You took a sip of your coffee, pleased to find it was just short of too hot to cause damage to your tongue, and turned around.

The Loki variant was just rising to his knees from where he’d fallen from the TVA portal, which had appeared and vanished 8 feet off the ground.

“There you are. Right on time.”

He dusted himself off, giving you a scowl.

“Do you have any idea what I just went through!” He gestured angrily at the ceiling. “I had to stand in an empty queue that lasted days, I went through a machine that measured every part of me—and I mean every part—and I had to read through a stack of papers and sign for every word I’ve ever spoken!”

You sipped your coffee again.

“Well?” He snapped. “Say something.”

“You weren’t gone for days,” you responded evenly. “You were gone for thirty minutes.”

He blinked rapidly, bared teeth turning into a confused frown.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I just got back from my lunch.” You gave a shrug. “I did tell you, time works differently in the TVA. Would you like to go for a walk?”

His anger was further deflated, his mouth ajar as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Coffee?” you asked, tilting your cup toward him. Laufeyson looked at it like it might be filled with poison.

“No.”

You shrugged and walked away, sliding open the door to the waiting room.

“Coming?”

You felt more than heard him join you by your side. The demigod moved like a cat. Maybe you should hook a bell around his collar.

“Where are we going?” he asked as you led him down a long, narrow hallway, the suspicion back in his voice. Did he really think you’d go through the trouble of killing him at this point?

Looking at his history, yes, there was a good chance that’s what he believed. You could count on one finger the number of people Loki had truly trusted his entire life.

“As I said, on a walk.”

“If you think for one moment that I believe we’re just going to—“

You pushed open the door at the end of the hallway, and Laufeyson stopped speaking, raising a hand to shield his eyes. The light coming through the viewports wasn’t especially bright, but it took a few seconds for one’s eyes to adjust to the grand sight of the space city.

You couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile at Laufeyson’s wide eyes and slack jaw. The view from this side of the station was especially stunning, and even though you had nothing to do with it, you were quite proud of the reaction it garnered from the variant.

“I told you, Mister Laufeyson. I don’t lie.”

You stepped forward, expecting him to follow, and he did, trailing after you as he kept his gaze on the long viewports along the corridors.

“Where are we?” he finally asked. His voice was quiet, soft, and you had to do a double take just to make sure this was the variant who had yelled at you only a half hour ago.

“Nowhere you can chart on a map or reach by starship. That tends to happen when you build between two collapsing stars.”

“The equidistant point between two gravitational singularities,” he said in that same soft voice.

It was so strange to hear him so subdued, almost reverent as he stared out the window, the faded browns and yellows and whites of the city reflecting in his eyes.

You looked away, taking another drink of your coffee. It had gone lukewarm.

You frowned.

“What?”

Laufeyson stared at you, brows furrowed. You ignored the disappointment of your stale coffee.

“Most variants don’t know what gravitational anomalies are, let alone understand how they work.”

“And how many variants have you spoken to?”

You blinked.

“That’s not important.”

The sly glint was back in his eyes, the toothy grin making a return.

“I’m the first, aren’t I?”

You ignored the unnecessary question and made a beeline for the trashcan at the far side of the room, quite far away on the other side of the open area.

Laufeyson was so close on your heels that his clothing brushed against your jacket.

“This is superb,” he said with a cheeriness that dripped insincerity at every word. “I’m on trial for crimes against the very fabric of reality, and they handed off my case to an intern. How very bureaucratic of them.”

“I’m not an intern.” You resented the accusation and your defensive denial of it. You cleared your throat and walked a little faster. “And nothing was handed to me. I asked for your case.”

“Well, that’s even worse,” he proclaimed, moving up so he was now at your side. “You honestly believe this was all your idea, but I’m sure no one else was jumping at the opportunity to represent me. You know why, don’t you? You seem like a smart woman.”

Ignoring his mockery, you made to throw in your half-empty coffee cup into the bin.

Laufeyson snatched your arm, his fingers curling around your wrist. His voice was low and menacing in your ear, so close it sent an unpleasant jolt up your spine. The sharp sense of unease grew worse when he pressed against your back.

“I’m too dangerous. Too unpredictable to be controlled.” His words were a soft murmur, but razors at the edges. “They decided my fate as soon as I set foot in this place. And who do you think will take the fall for my lack of cooperation?”

His lips brushed against your ear.

“When I’m condemned,” he growled, “you’re condemned with me.”

You dropped the coffee cup, extended your fingers, and the remote dropped from its hidden holster into your palm.

You pressed the button.

The shock of electricity stung your wrist before Laufeyson released you, but it was nothing compared to the voltage that coursed through his body as he hit the ground, convulsing.

You released the button quickly, not realizing you were panting for breath or that your heart was pounding in your ears. You’d never shocked anyone before.

Laufeyson seemed just as surprised as you were, though it curled into anger and bared teeth when a group of five Minutemen flooded the room, batons drawn.

“Stand down,” you snapped. “I have him under control.”

The words felt like a lie. Your fingers trembled as you slipped the remote back up your sleeve, but at least your voice was steady. Deceptively so.

Why were they even here? The point of the Time Twister was for a single person to be able to handle the variant on their own.

“Do you confirm you have the Loki Variant L1130 rendered harmless, Agent?”

You glanced at the demigod in question. He, too, was trying to catch his breath, and remained on the floor even as he propped himself up on his elbows. He raised his brows at you as if to say, Well? Have you rendered me harmless?

“Yes.” You dragged your gaze away from him and addressed the Hunter that had spoken. You vaguely recognized him from Mobius’ field investigations. “You may go now.”

The Minutemen disengaged their weapons and filed out of the room. The other clerks and administrators who had stopped to watch the scene immediately continued on their way, even as they gossiped to each other in whispers.

“Still don’t believe me?”

You took a steadying breath. The humor was back in his voice as he rose to his feet, brushing himself off as if he’d done nothing more than tripped.

“Certainly shows a lack of trust on their part, sending their goons at the slightest sign of trouble. It’s almost as if they don’t think you can do the job.”

Working your jaw for a moment, you approached and came to a stop just in front of the variant, so close his smile faded.

“Never touch me again.”

You said it slowly, clearly, with perfect enunciation.

Laufeyson studied your face and raised an elegant brow.

“Do I have your understanding?” you pressed him. You wanted a verbal answer that grabbing your arm was unacceptable and could never happen again—

“For how long?”

You frowned.

“What?”

“You said to never touch you again, but for how long?”

“…Do you not know what the word never means?”

“What if I had your permission?”

The question was given seriously, but the light in his eyes said otherwise.

“Permission?” you hissed, followed by a glance around the common area to ensure no one was listening to the conversation. Fortunately, no one was paying either of you any attention. “Why would I ever give you permission to touch me?”

And there was the smile again, returned with full, pearly-white brilliance.

“Stranger things have been known to happen.”

You pointed a finger at his smarmy grin.

“I will shock you again.”

“Ooo.” He winced with playful exaggeration. “Promises.”

Despite the fact you had shocked him moments before, something in the air shifted. The tension vanished, and a more comfortable atmosphere settled between you. Even the smile that lingered on his lips seemed more genuine than the usual fare.

All you did was continue to stare.

“So.” Laufeyson smoothed the ruffled collar of his jumpsuit, breaking the strange moment. “Where off to next?”

You glanced down at your wristwatch, surprised to find the hands had moved farther than you’d thought.

“I suppose we should start walking now,” you said, and did just that, heading in the direction of the appropriate elevator banks. “It’s nearly time.”

His longer legs allowed him to easily catch up to you.

“Time for what?”

You didn’t meet his eye until after you pressed the button to call the elevator. And even then, you did so with reluctance.

“Your trial.”

Next Chapter

[hope-to-hell]

Thanks to your August on the hunt post from earlier I present to you: August Walker + gun kink. Do with that what you will 😘

Well @septicace this one grabbed me and wouldn’t let go, so it’s jumped right to the head of the queue. Telling Stories (razor’s edge). August Walker x Reader. Smut, gun kink, toys, wounds/gunshot wounds (not directly related to the smut), restraints, fantasized dub/noncon, oral, spit kink. August tells you a bedtime story. But it’s him, so you know it’s not going to be “Jack and the Beanstalk.”

Close your eyes, pet. I’m going to tell you a story.

August moves about the room and there are soft sounds: clinking, rustling, the whisper of his bare feet on the carpet;

(And he has scars even there; his body is a map, marked out with all the pain and torment and triumphs of a life with his finger on the trigger)

he trails something cold along your thigh, smooth metal, rounded edges, and as you’re trying to grasp the shape of it he’s dragging it up between your folds. Imagine, pet. You, helpless. There’s the feeling of leather cuffs around your wrists, pulling your arms to the headboard. Your heart’s pounding. You’re bound and open, totally exposed. Think about how it would feel, all that adrenaline tearing through your veins. How wide your eyes would be when I open your legs even further with my hands. He does, then, thumbs digging into the soft meat of your inner thighs, hands like iron on your flesh, moving that cold round something til its tip is just barely dipping into your opening.

Remember, pet

(Remember the nights at his feet as he cleaned his guns; remember the sharp scents of lubricants and cleaners as he worked with quiet concentration. Remember how he began to speak. Always loaded, even when they’re not. Always dangerous. The difference between life and death is just a little piece of metal.

Will you teach me?)

In this story you're not in control. You’re mine to do with as I please, and what I want is to slide the barrel of my gun into your shivering cunt and watch it shine with all your desperation when I draw it back.

I— fuck. Jesus, August.

Alright, pet? Then hush. Listen and feel. It’s terrifying and exhilarating, isn’t it, this danger. This extension of me. And you’re so wet for it, aren’t you, pet? Soaking the sheets already. Tsk. Is it the thought of walking the razor’s edge between life and death? Pleasure that could become agony before you can blink?

(Hold it steady. Imagine a line from your hand to the target. That’s it. Now squeeze.

Remember August beside you at the table, eyes fixed on yours as he disassembled his weapons by feel. Remember the delicacy of his touch as he cleaned them to gleaming; it was a lover’s touch, sensual and delicate)

It’s just a story, pet. Remember. And he slides cool metal inside you, slowly, so that you can feel every inch. Now, where were we? Think about it. How liberating it would be to give yourself over completely to me, to my whims. How freeing it is to be fully in my hands. The coldness inside you is warming; it leaches heat until it’s blood-warm, but still hard. Unyielding. Cruel. One big warm hand is steady on your thigh as the other moves the— it’s a toy, it has to be. He wouldn’t really—

Shh. Shall I continue with the story?

(He left bloody spatters in his wake and when you saw him in the mirror he was digging fingers into the wound, first for the bullet and then for pleasure. He was all red smears and drips and his eyes were burning on you. Come here. Feel it. Feel the burning heart of me.)

Taste it, pet. How weak you are for me, for the danger of this. He withdraws the object and touches it to your lips; the tip is rounded, it’s a toy, a metal cock, and it is reassuring in its smoothness. And how it pleases him, the way your tongue strokes over it, the way you take every drop of need back into yourself. That’s it. Suck. Fellate it like you would me. Treat it like a living, breathing thing, like your life depends on this. There’s the sound of an indrawn breath, hushed and half-buried under the wet sounds of your mouth.

And if you please me, I’ll lay the gun aside and fuck you myself. Or would you prefer I take the barrel from your lips and fuck you with it til you cry? You’d look so lovely, pet, splayed open and shivering, writhing around it because it won’t yield, so your body has to. His breath comes faster now, even as he slides the toy inside you deeper and deeper until his knuckles brush your entrance. And when you come around it you’ll find it still moving in my hand as I take and take and take. We stop when I say we stop

(No matter what, you always have the final veto. If you call a stop, we stop. Every time.)

and if you cry for me I’ll lick your tears and spit them back onto your tongue. And you will cry for me, won’t you? His hand brushes your cheek and every callus is a story; this one is from hours on the shooting range, this one’s from writing feverishly in the dead of night, this one’s from learning to fall, over and over.

Pet. His voice is rough and strained and the words drop away into darkness, catching at your ears before tumbling away forever. Open your eyes. Look at me.

(Just because I won’t, it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it.)

He’s down on one elbow, working the toy with one hand as he ruts into the sheets and his gaze is burning. Pet. His words writhe with all the crawling howling things inside him, with all the darkness and sharp crystalline beauty that make him who he is. I will never deliberately make you unsafe. And if I hurt you it’ll only be because we both want it. He is a deep well with a lantern shining far below; he is the last one at the office, burning the midnight oil; he is the first drop of rain in the desert.

(It’ll rain tonight. He rubs his hands together, working his fingers into the deep ache. You shouldn’t be out in that kind of weather.)

And he flows like a landslide til he can get his mouth on you, tasting skin and metal and need; he doesn’t speak but the story isn’t over. Even if you can’t hear it, you can sense the shape of the word he breathes into your flesh; he says mine and it marks you like a brand. He says mine, and in the stillness that follows your coupling you give your answer.

[wolfie-dragon-rider]

Grey Stains, a new story

Hey everyone! Those of you who follow me on Ao3 or FFN might have noticed this already, but last week I posted the first chapter of a new story of mine, called Grey Stains. It’s a HTTYD Hogwarts AU, taking place several years after the end of Harry Potter. 

Summary: Post-Deathly Hallows Hogwarts AU. When Harry Potter escaped Gringotts on the back of a dragon and flew off towards the battle of Hogwarts, most of the wizarding world saw a hero. For a young Hiccup whose mother died in the Gringotts escape, it is much more complicated to grow up in a post-war world that still bears scars no one wants to talk about, especially when you're bad at magic, your father is overprotective and paranoid of dragons, and there is a rising fear of neo-Death Eaters threatening the fragile peace. An original story (i.e. not Harry Potter retold) about trauma of all kinds, but also about overcoming your fears with the help of others. Eventual Hiccstrid.

I have been planning this story literally for years, so I’m very excited to finally share it with you all! I hope you like it! If you have any comments, thoughts, reviews, or questions, please let me know! 

Enough talk, here’s the first chapter. I’ll be updating weekly, on Sundays. If you’d rather read on FFN or AO3 you can find it there as well, under the usernames wolfie-dragon and wolfie_dragon respectively. 

----------------------------

Hiccup broke out into coughs the moment he hit the ground. The world span around him, unfocused and blurred, as he tried not to suffocate.

"Oh, come on, son. Apparating is not that bad," Stoick said, roughly pulling him up by his armpits from the dusty courtyard tiles.

"You-" Hiccup couldn't finish his retort at first, too busy getting air back into his lungs. The dust, the tight suffocating space he had just been in, it brought back flashes. Screams. Crumbling masonry.

"Easy for you to say. You're not... allergic to dust and tight spaces," he eventually managed to spit out. Stoick scoffed for a second, but didn't start a rant at least. Hiccup was grateful for that. Whenever he'd panic at a small room or dust cloud Stoick would normally complain that he should 'man up' already since he was not "actually allergic to dust".

Maybe he was right, but that didn't mean Hiccup didn't get physically sick every time he had to face it.

"Look, you're okay, so let's get your stuff. You have your list, right?" Stoick asked, grabbing his wand and tapping several stones on the wall next to him. Hiccup reached into his pocket to grab the parchment he received last week.

His acceptance letter to Hogwarts.

"Great! Now, first of all we should go to Gringotts. All these books aren't cheap, and it's time you get your own account as well. That way you can collect interest on your allowance, and use it for Hogsmeade trips and things like that," his father said, as the wall opened up to reveal Diagon Alley. It was filled with people.

The last time Hiccup had been there it had been nearly deserted.

"I don't want to go to Gringotts. That's where-" he started, unable to finish the sentence when his throat closed up. Just like with the apparition he couldn't breathe at the memory.

Stoick sighed loudly, the disappointment clear, but then he knelt so he was closer to Hiccup's eye level.

"That was seven years ago. Nothing will happen now. It's all safe. You're growing up! You're going to Hogwarts, and take your place in our world. And for that, you need a Gringotts account. Plus, it'll look bad if the son of the Head of the Department of Magical Creatures didn't get an account at the bank run by our biggest allies!" he said.

At that moment Hiccup couldn't care less about relations with goblins, but he still nodded slowly.

"Okay. I'll try," he whispered.

"Attaboy! Now let's go, we don't have all day!" Stoick shouted, getting up and turning to Diagon Alley, his long cloak flapping with the motion. Hiccup almost had to run to keep up with his huge steps. People parted at the sight of the 7-feet tall man wearing gilded ministry robes, so they got through the crowd easily.

The goblin guards at the enormous bank doors recognized Stoick, so they greeted him warmly, and he returned the greeting before briskly walking inside. Hiccup followed, unsure if the goblins had even noticed him at half his father's height.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light inside, with the white marble and shining gold all over the place.

"Wait here for a second," Stoick told him before walking right past the queue of wizards and witches and talking to the goblin teller. The people waiting in line shot him dirty looks, but the ministry robes stopped them from protesting.

"But…" Hiccup whispered, not wanting to be alone. Not here. The tiles were too clean and white. They had been stained red with blood. A mother and her young son pushed past him to join the queue. The boy was licking ice cream. Hiccup got a whiff of the scent of vanilla cream, and all of a sudden he was outside in Diagon Alley again, but it was much emptier.

Abandoned shops and boarded-up windows lined the street, but 4-year old Hiccup didn't care, because Mama just bought him ice cream from the new parlour. As they waited in line Hiccup heard adults talking about the old ice cream vendor having vanished, but he hadn't understood it, and it hadn't mattered. He got his vanilla ice cream, and then they all walked to the bank together, him between his parents. They had explained that they just had to check on something there real quick, and then they'd go back home.

The building had been chaotic when they entered. Dozens of goblin guards ran around, and a barricade was being set up at the gate to the tunnels. Stoick was pulled away by an anxious-looking goblin with grey hair, leaving Hiccup alone with his mom.

"Mama, what's happening?" he asked between licks of his ice cream.

"Nothing, it's fine. There's just something your father and I have to… make sure doesn't get out of hand," she said, before ruffling his hair. The sudden move made him smear some ice cream on the collar of his shirt. "Oh, you're so clumsy. Let's clean that up."

She had just taken her wand out of her pocket when the world turned upside down.

A massive shockwave knocked them off their feet. Hiccup saw the wand fly out of her hand as they fell. A roar echoed through the room, answered by screams and shouts.

His head pounded where it hit the marble floor, and when he turned to look at the source of the noise it felt like he was dreaming.

Large parts of the floor were missing, and more tiles crumbled into the dark hole that had been white marble moments ago. A desk covered with documents and coins slid over the edge, despite a goblin trying to hold onto it. Hiccup couldn't look away from the screaming creature falling in and disappearing from sight. But then his mama grabbed him and pulled him back, and he looked up.

There was an enormous dragon towering over them. It was thin and white, and its huge eyes were milky. On its back were three people, but they were too far away for him to make out.

"Hiccup, get back," Mama shouted, pulling him behind an overturned desk. His hands were shaking, and he realized there was ice cream all over them. The dragon roared, the sound making Hiccup's ears hurt. It was followed with a cacophony of shouts and screams, and he covered his ears with his sticky hands.

A burst of flame shot over their heads, hitting a group of people near the door who screamed in agony.

"Stay here," his mom said, making him look away from the man whose robes were on fire. She stood up and slowly walked towards the dragon, hands in the air.

"Mama!" he shouted, the word lost in the noise as the dragon's tail smashed through a pillar. It shattered into a hundred pieces that rained down on the people around it.

"It's okay. Just calm down. You're a good dragon. It's alright. No one will hurt you." Somehow Hiccup could hear his mother's soft words among the chaos. The dragon turned to her, growling aggressively despite the people on its back pulling at its horns. A puff of smoke escaped its nostrils.

"Mama! Mama no!" Hiccup screamed, climbing on top of the desk as the dragon put its nose right next to his mother, who looked so tiny compared to the enormous creature. It sniffed and growled more. Mama's arm trembled as she slowly raised it.

One of the people on the dragon's back, a man with red hair, cast some kind of spell at the creature, making it groan. Its jaws opened, revealing rows of enormous fangs. Despite the black soot covering them they looked razor-sharp, and Hiccup had never felt so scared in his life.

BANG!

A flash of light and a loud bang shook the hall. The goblins cowered as the dragon roared in pain and fury.

"No, no, it's okay, just calm down, NOOOO!"

Hiccup was frozen as the dragon charged forward blindly. It felt like time slowed down as Mama put her hands in front of her face in a futile attempt to block.

Her scream ended with a horrific crushing sound as the dragon's front paw came down on her.

Suddenly there were more flashes of all colors, more shouts, more magic, but none of it existed. The dragon screamed, thrashing around wildly as spells hit it. More pillars crumbled and collapsed, and parts of the ceiling fell around him. None of it was real. None of this could be real.

"Mama! Mama! MAMA!" Hiccup screamed, frozen in place on top of the overturned desk.

"Hiccup, get away from there!" someone shouted, but he couldn't understand it. Why wasn't Mama getting up?

The dragon charged forward, straight into the wall of the building, opening it up to bright beams of sunlight that reflected on blue gems and white debris and pools of blood. With a final roar, it opened its wings and took flight with a single flap that drove a cloud of dust through the hall. It made Hiccup cough, and he didn't see the ceiling above him crack.

"Hiccup!" his father's voice shouted. It seemed so far away. The ceiling came down, on his Mama, on the goblins, on him. Brutal pain raced through his arm and back.

"Hiccup! Hiccup!" He blinked, and suddenly he was back in a clean and calm room. There was a ceiling and four walls and no screaming. His father was kneeling in front of him.

"Are you there? Come on, stop daydreaming. It's time to visit the vaults. I'm sure you'll like the cart ride!" he said, and Hiccup shook his head. His arm ached, despite the fracture having healed seven years ago. He didn't remember much of it. Being trapped under the stone, unable to breathe, for a minute until his father and other wizards could dig him out. A hospital bed. Left alone as his dad suddenly had to do a million things.

The next day the war was over. Ended by the three people he had seen riding the dragon.

"I… I'm fine," he whispered, trying to look strong in front of the old goblin standing next to Stoick.

"That's my boy! You see, Gringotts ain't so bad. You know what, if you're good during the cart ride, I'll get you an owl!"

Hiccup managed not to throw up during the cart ride. In fact it was quite exhilarating, like flying his broomstick back at the mansion. He rarely got the opportunity to do that, since his father was always nervous about dragons hiding in the clouds, waiting to strike.

The ride was over far too quickly, and then it was just a matter of moving coins around. Hiccup received a key to an empty vault, with promises it would fill up while he was at Hogwarts.

The ride back to the surface was even faster than the first cart, though Hiccup found it harder to enjoy, his stomach sinking when he caught a glimpse of the large doors leading back to the main hall. His dad seemed to sense his mood, and simply ushered them through the room quickly without stopping to speak to passersby like he normally did.

It wasn't until they stood outside in the bright midday sun that Hiccup felt like he could breathe again.

"Alright, let's get your school supplies first, it'll be much easier if we don't have to carry an owl around all day. What do you wanna get first? How about the books, you're always buried in those," Stoick asked. Hiccup resisted the urge to snark about how there was nothing else to do at the mansion but read, and instead focused on happier things.

"Can we get my wand?" he asked, already walking towards the shops and away from the bank.

A minute later they entered a tiny shop called Ollivander's, and the oldest man Hiccup had ever seen greeted them. He was almost completely bald, the few strands of hair that remained were wispy and white. His face and neck bore many scars, and his eyes felt like they looked straight into Hiccup's soul.

"Oh, Mr. Haddock! It feels like yesterday that I sold you your wand. 11 and a quarter inches, holly wood, with a dragon heartstring core, is that correct? I hope it's still working well for you," the man said with a croaky voice.

"Yes, it is," Stoick said, frowning at the mention of the dragon heartstring core. "But we're not here for me. My son is going to Hogwarts and he needs a wand."

Hiccup tried to smile, despite feeling very uncomfortable around the old man he assumed was Ollivander. The wand would be worth it. He'd be able to do magic!

"Ah, of course. Let's see… How about 9 and three quarter inches, yew, unicorn hair? Nice and straightforward," Ollivander said, opening a narrow box on the counter and handing it to Hiccup. "Go on, give it a swing!"

His hand trembled slightly when he took the wand. This would allow him to do magic! He'd only have to swing it! So he took a deep breath and gently swung the wand.

Nothing happened.

Ollivander ignored his surprise at the lack of sparks, snatching the wand from his hand and giving him another. "Pear, 10 and a half inches, dragon heartstring!"

"Wait a minute, you still use dragon heartstring? I banned all dragon products years ago," Stoick said as Hiccup swung a few times, still with no result.

"Eh, that just banned me from buying more. I have a huge stock of heartstring, Mr. Haddock. And there's absolutely nothing evil about it, no matter what you might believe. Now, try this one: Blackthorn, 12 inches, unicorn hair," the old man said, giving Hiccup another wand and grabbing more boxes from a shelf.

Stoick scoffed at that, but didn't push further. Instead he sat down in the small chair in the corner. The wood creaked under his weight. Hiccup tried to cast a hovering spell with the long wand, copying the movement he saw Mrs. Beakley, their housekeeper, use whenever she used Wingardium Leviosa.

Absolutely nothing happened. Of course he hadn't said the words, but still, it felt like he was failing at this.

"There's nothing to worry about. This happens to a lot of people. Your mother tried 23 wands before one chose her. Your father needed a dozen tries too," Ollivander said, piling up boxes on the counter and handing another one over. "Rosewood, 11 inches, phoenix feather, great for charms."

"Shouldn't something be coming out anyway? I remember producing fire and smoke with all the wands I tried," Stoick said, shifting in the chair.

"Indeed, wizards can produce intuitive magic even with wands that haven't chosen them, but it's much harder. There's degrees in this, some wands make it harder, some easier. In fact, let's try… Larch, 10 and a quarter inch, unicorn hair," Ollivander said as another wand was pushed into Hiccup's hands.

Another swing, and still nothing.

"Oh, that's a little strange. Still, I'm sure there's a wand for you. I do love a difficult customer!" Ollivander exclaimed, flicking his own wand to make entire stacks of boxes float towards the counter.

Hiccup had tried 51 wands with no result when his father stood up, the chair squeaking loudly in relief.

"Well, this looks like it's going to… take a while. How about I buy the rest of your supplies while you keep trying," he said, wrapping his cloak tighter around himself. Hiccup sighed, giving him the list.

Ollivander wasn't deterred by the ever growing pile of tried wands, marking their boxes with a small H and putting them back on the shelves while grabbing new ones. Meanwhile Hiccup swung and swung and swung some more.

A while later, long after Hiccup lost count, the door opened again. A blonde girl ran in, followed by a blond man with a long beard and auror robes.

"Astrid, no need to run. We have plenty of time," the man said as the girl ran right next to Hiccup, stopping him mid-swing. She was pretty, despite her scowl and narrowed eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Finn Hofferson! Is that blackthorn wand still working for you? And who is this? I didn't know you had children," Ollivander said, dumping another armful of wands on Hiccup's end of the counter. Hiccup took one, swung it, and slid it to the other end when it didn't work. As he pushed it, he noticed the girl looking at him and the pile of wands strangely.

"This is Astrid, my niece on my brother's side. I took her in after…" the auror said, putting his hand on Astrid's shoulder when her head dropped.

"Ah, of course. It's very nice to meet you, young witch. I sold your brother and sister their wands, you know. Though that was over a decade ago. They must have left Hogwarts around the… oh, right," Ollivander said, Astrid immediately snapping her head up to look at him with piercing eyes.

"Can we just get her wand? She's feisty, maybe a blackthorn one like mine?" Finn said, obviously eager to change the subject that Hiccup didn't really understand.

"Of course, of course. How about you try this one. Just swing it, like Hiccup over here does," Ollivander said. Hiccup, startled by her bright blue eyes, dropped the wand he was swinging, making it clatter loudly.

"Try not to drop it, though. Blackthorn, 11 inches, dragon heartstring," Ollivander said, grabbing a wand from the used pile and handing it to the girl. Frowning, she swung it once, and immediately sparks exploded from the tip. Her frown turned into a smile instantly.

"Not quite right. How about holly, 12 and a quarter inch, phoenix feather," Ollivander said as Hiccup swung another wand, trying not to look too disappointed when nothing happened.

Astrid swung the wand, and a moment later a vase exploded.

"Ooh, a little too temperamental. Ah, I know. Red oak, dragon heartstring, 9 and a half inches. A perfect wand for dueling and combat!" The wandmaker dug in the pile, finding a thin reddish wand and handing it over.

The moment Astrid touched it, her jaw dropped. With a firm hand, she swung it, and a soft glow emitted from the wand. She smiled brightly, and Hiccup couldn't help but smile as well.

"Perfect, perfect! It has chosen you! Congratulations, Ms. Hofferson. I'm sure you'll overcome great foes with this wand. Perhaps your biggest challenge will be deciding who those foes shall be," Ollivander told a brightly smiling Astrid. But then she glanced at Hiccup swinging another unresponsive wand and her smile dropped a bit. He couldn't help but wonder if she considered him a potential foe.

After another round of congratulations from Finn, payment was exchanged and the Hoffersons left the store, leaving behind an empty silence with no crackling sparks or exploding chinaware.

"Is that what's supposed to happen? What happens to everybody else?" he eventually asked, tossing another wand on the counter a little harder than he needed to.

Ollivander sighed deeply.

"Usually, yes. Untrained witches and wizards tend to send uncontrolled magic through every object they touch, and wands react to that magic, even if they didn't choose the wizard. It's almost like you're already trained. Did your father get you private tutoring?" the old man asked, sorting out the wands Astrid had tried and marking more boxes with an H.

"Yes, but not for this. I haven't learned any magic or spells. They just teach me history or Latin," Hiccup said, swinging again. He could feel something whenever he swung, a brief spark of burning heat in his fingertips like he grasped a candle flame. But it wasn't a good feeling like he always imagined magic would feel.

"Strange. But that just makes it more interesting! Come on, keep trying!" Ollivander said, and Hiccup did. His arm ached from the motion by the time his father returned with a bag full of books and potion supplies.

"You're still going?! Come on, Hiccup! I have more things to do today, you know," Stoick said, putting the bag down and gesturing at the piles of wands.

"I can't help it. They won't work!" Hiccup said, grabbing another one, swinging it with no effect, and tossing it on the used pile.

"You just have to do some magic! I know you can do it, you're not a damn squib!" his father shouted, sitting down heavily in the chair. Hiccup saw a crack run down one of its legs.

"I'm trying! Do you think I don't want this to work?" he said, grabbing a random wand from the pile.

"Well, try harder! You've been in here for hours! People are gonna notice," Stoick said, glancing out the window, and all the frustration Hiccup had been building up exploded.

"Is that all you care about? That random people will notice I'm having trouble finding a wand!" he screamed, raising the wand to point at his father.

Heat raced down his arms, burning his veins. The wand trembled in his shaking hand, and then the heat focused in his fingertips. It became too much, the fire scorching him from within.

But then suddenly the heat disappeared, replaced with a red flame bursting from the wand's tip. Hiccup yelped, dropping it from his tingling fingers. As quick as it had appeared, the fire vanished.

The only sound in the room was the wand clattering on the floorboards.

"See, you can do magic! That wand worked, right? Mr. Ollivander! What do you think?" Stoick said, smiling brightly despite soot darkening his beard.

"Accidental magic, yes, but still magic. No doubt. So there must be a wand for you. That one wasn't it, though. Let's keep going. There's still plenty of wands left," the old man slowly said.

No one seemed to care about Hiccup's pained sigh as he picked up another wand and gave it a swing. It did nothing. Just the same flash of painful heat in his fingertips as before. Nothing like the burst of actual magic he had just felt.

An hour later, after a boy by the name of Hiro came in and got his wand on the first try, Stoick stood up and grabbed the bag of supplies.

"That's enough. This is going nowhere. Clearly there's something very wrong with these wands. We'll go see better wandmakers tomorrow. I hear there's a good one in New York. One who doesn't use dragon products either," he said, putting his hand on Hiccup's shoulder and pulling him away from the counter.

"Very well. Every wandmaker will tell you there's nothing wrong with dragon heartstring cores, but clearly you've made up your mind based on a completely unrelated event, Department Head Haddock," Ollivander said in an icy tone. Stoick huffed, but didn't respond. He just stomped out the shop dragging Hiccup along with him.

He gave Mr. Ollivander an apologetic smile as his father slammed the door shut.

"That impudent- No matter. There's plenty of other wandmakers," Stoick said, moving towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"But Dad… You said I was gonna get an owl," Hiccup asked, not as excited as he had been before they went into the wand shop.

"Ugh… Fine. We'll get that owl, then we go home," Stoick said, turning around with heavy footsteps. The street was much emptier now that the sun was setting.

The cacophony of roars and meows and squawks in the pet store was the complete opposite of the silence of Ollivander's. And yet Hiccup felt much more at ease around the animals. There were no other customers inside.

"Hey, you! I'm looking for an owl for my son," Stoick shouted at a young woman standing behind the counter. Hiccup walked to a wall filled with bird cages. The owls were fairly quiet compared to the other creatures. He reached out his finger to a yellow-blueish owl with bright blue eyes.

Hiccup gently scratched the bird, and it opened its beak wide. A puff of smoke came out.

"Of course! What kind of personality would you like? We have several: playful, obedient, intel-"

The clerk's words were cut off by Hiccup's scream when the bird breathed fire. It was just a tiny flame, hardly bigger than a torch, but it conjured images of crumbling masonry and blood. The scream emptied his lungs, and he couldn't breathe to fill them again. He stumbled and fell, coughing at the musky air.

"What in Merlin's name is that! I demand answers!" Stoick shouted as he drew his wand, pointing it at the bird.

"It's a magical fusion! An owl with the magical abilities of a Blast-ended Skrewt! We got it from a wizard who experiments with transferring abilities between creatures!" she said quickly, running over and petting the fire-breathing bird.

"How do I know it's not some dragon monstrosity? Do you know who I am? I am Stoick Haddock, head of the Department of Magical Creatures. I introduced the laws against draconic experimentation, and if I suspect any violation of that law I could shut this place down right now!"

Hiccup finally managed to catch his breath, raising his head to see all the blood drain from the clerk's face.

"No, I swear it's nothing draconic! Please, sir! Have a free owl, any one you want!" she said, hands trembling.

"I don't trust anything you sell!" Stoick said, tone icy as he kept his wand raised. The woman's eyes flickered between the wand and the ministry badge on his robes.

"Then let me compensate you. For the… emotional damages!," she shouted, before running to the till. "Here, this is more than enough to buy an owl at any other pet store!" she said, holding up several gold coins. Stoick was silent for a few seconds, until he slowly lowered his wand.

"Fine, I'll take that. And you better hope I never hear of any kind of creature experimentation again."

It wasn't until they were standing outside again that Hiccup had calmed down enough to speak.

"I wanted an owl. Not that one, but a normal one," he said, glaring at his fuming father.

"Maybe we'll get one in New York tomorrow. At least in America they protect well against these… abominations. I'm trying to get those laws here as well, but no one wants to cooperate!" Stoick said as they made it back to the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Now grab on. We're going home," he said, gesturing at his arm. Hiccup shook his head violently.

"No, I can't do apparition again! Please, Dad!" he begged, breath speeding up at the very thought of that narrow tube. The anger he had felt over the owl vanished, frozen by the memory.

"Come on, Hiccup! It's better than floo powder. You can't handle that at all! Just swallow your fears already so we can go home," Stoick said, shaking his head in disappointment. Hiccup just jumped back.

"I can't!" he shouted, tears pricking at his eyes.

Stoick was quiet for a long time, staring at him with furrowed brow, until his face softened.

"Fine. We'll take the Knight's Bus, even if it is dreadfully uncomfortable. And we can take a portkey to New York tomorrow, you're okay with those, right?" he said, leading them through the Leaky Cauldron to the muggle street outside. An old witch tried to talk to Stoick, but he waved her away. The other people in the bar just looked at him darkly.

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks, Dad," Hiccup whispered, thinking back to the girl at Ollivander's and wondering if she was scared of anything.

[blaithinwrites]

May the Best

Summary: A year ago Bucky lost his arm and his memory in a motorbike accident. Somehow his journey back to normality involves pretending to date the rich and troubled Tony Stark.(loosely, so loosely, inspired by to all the boys I’ve ever loved with a lot more angst)

Chapter 5 (AO3)

Bucky turned up the next day with an assortment of pastries, some of them still hot from the oven. Tony made a little breathless sound of delight as he opened the car door, sniffing the air like a puppy.

“You can ditch me more often if this is the apology I get,” Tony mumbled, lips dark pink and wet as he stuffed another Danish into his mouth. Bucky suspected he should have been disgusted. He tried to reach for Tony’s coffee, only for to Tony to lurch away from him, batting his hands away with a cry of “mine!”

Bucky laughed and did it again just to see the betrayal written across the other boy’s face. Tony’s oversized jumped slid up his arms, flashing bony wrists as he tried to wrestle his coffee to safety. Bucky easily held him off; it times likes these it paid to have an impossibly strong, unfeeling metal arm. His eyes flickered down, catching on the unexpected shock of colour on the narrowest part of Tony’s arm. An angry purple and red bruise.

Before Bucky could process it, Tony had snatched his coffee away and was curled up in his seat, his jumper curled over his fingers and his knees brought up high to make himself small and snug looking on his chair. He grinned victoriously at Bucky over his steaming cup, gesturing imperatively at the steering wheel.

“Well come on then. We’re going to be late.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, and put the car into gear, “Yes, I know you’d hate to miss a single lesson.”

“I would cry and cry and cry,” Tony replied without an ouch of sincerity.

Bucky smiled at him, the bruise was probably nothing. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy. He wondered how Tony had made it home last night without him.  Tony often made jokes about not wanting to take the school bus with Neanderthals like Brock Rumlow but what if it wasn’t exactly a joke.  Or maybe Tiberius Stone had escalated from whispering nasty rumours.

Bucky glanced over at Tony. Tony often seemed to fill whatever space he inhabited, his personality overwhelming and his tongue razor sharp. It was easy to forget that he was a slender, shorter than average teenage, a year younger than all his peers. Bucky suspected that snakes like Rumlow and Stone never forgot.

In homeroom, Bucky gave into his unease and leaned across the desk to poke Jan. “Hey.”

She blinked at him, one delicate arched eyebrow raised.

“You’re in Tony’s classes, aren’t you?”

“Some of them.”

“Think you could keep an eye out for him?”

Jan looked intrigued, resting her delicate chin in her palms and smiling at him. “And why do you want me to ogle your boyfriend?”

“No reason.”

Jan waited, one eyebrow raised patiently.

“Just worried, he mentioned Rumlow and…”

Jan held up a hand, “say no more. I shall shelter your boyfriend like a baby bird from a storm.”

“Er, thanks?”

“No thanks needed. Besides,” Jan grinned wickedly.  “I’m guessing plan B was breaking Rumlow’s nose again.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, “I never said that.”

Jan patted his arm, “You didn’t need to, frankly you’re getting a little predictable Barnes.”

Bucky shook his head, at least Tony would have someone who could match his constant talking.

“So tell me,” Tony started as he threw his bag into Bucky’s car that evening. It hit the floor hard, the dull echo of metal hitting metal reverberating through the cabin. “Why you decided to sic Van Dyne on me?”

Bucky blinked in open panic, “I didn’t?”

Tony smiled: a strange sharp-toothed expression that made Bucky think of sharks. “You’re such a liar, Barnes. What the fuck are you playing at? I didn’t agree to this so you could start manipulating me. If this is some weird sort of joke with your friends…”

“No,” Bucky interrupted quickly, seeing the pulsing vein on Tony’s forehead. He was pulling out on the main road and he didn’t fancy their chances if Tony tried to strangle him in a moving vehicle. “It’s not that, I was just worried about you.”

Tony stared at him blankly. “Worried about me?”

“With Rumlow?”

“Rumlow?” Tony repeated slowly.

“You had a bruise on your arm and I figured it must be Rumlow, I’ve seen him shoving people around.”

Tony’s hand curled around his wrist, fingers tight around the dark mark Bucky had seen that morning. His cheeks were faintly pink and his mouth wide open in a little perfect ‘O’.

“Look.” Tony said stiffly, “While I’m sure this is a very nice gesture in whatever weird chivalrous land you and Rogers live in, I do not need you or anyone else to protect me OK?”

Bucky frowned, a familiar impatient edge creeping into his voice. “You were hurt.”

“Barnes, if I needed your help, I would have asked for it.”

The use of his surname was a slap in the face, they had stopped calling each by their surnames weeks ago. Bucky bit back a sharp retort. He remembered how prickly Steve got when he got involved in those fights and told himself that it was probably the same for Tony. Pride had a way of being easily bruised.

Bucky sighed in frustration. If Tony didn’t want his help then there was nothing he could do. Besides just because Tony didn’t want Bucky’s help didn’t mean Bucky was going to tell Jan to back off. “Ok, fine. I’m sorry.”

Tony smiled, forgiveness grated in one blink of an eye. He slumped back into his chair, throwing his feet up onto the dashboard and ducking at the hand that Bucky sent towards him with practiced ease.

“It fine, you can make it up to me.”

Bucky snorted, “Oh and how will I do that?”

Tony grinned, thrusting a piece of brightly coloured paper into Bucky’s face. “Take me to this”

Blinded, Bucky pushed Tony and his paper away. His car swerved and the vehicle behind them honked loudly in protest.

“Sorry,” Tony said, not sounding very sorry at all. He was gently smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. “The Exhibition on Astronomy: It’s only in town for this weekend. No buses go there, but since you can drive it won’t be a problem. Maybe you’ll even learn something. Although I’ve seen your science scores so I won’t hold my breath.”

“OK.”

Tony went silent, blinking at Bucky dumbly. “Huh?”

“I said OK. I’ll give you a lift.”

Tony squinted at him, “You did hear the bit where I indicated it was an hour away right?”

Bucky shrugged, “I’ll pick you up at 10. Although I’m surprised that someone like you is into horoscopes and all that rubbish.”

Tony squawked in indignation and made to protest before seeing the twinkling amusement in Bucky’s eyes and falling back into gaping silence, eyes darting around Bucky’s face as if he was trying to find something. “I don’t get you at all.” Tony huffed finally.

“It’s part of my charm, I’m a sexy enigma.”

Tony’s disbelief hadn’t seemed to have lessened when Bucky turned up at his house on Saturday morning as arranged. It was the first time they had seen each other outside of their journeys to and from school and their conversation was awkward and stunted, despite the easy repertoire they had cultivated recently.

“Here,” Tony said as they arrived at the museum breaking the lingering quiet between them. Bucky blinked at the crisp piles of notes that was suddenly forced into his hand.

“What?”

“For driving me,” Tony said stiffly.  

Bucky frowned and dropped the money back into his lap. “I didn’t offer to do it because I wanted your money.”

Tony had twisted his fingers together into a twitching, awkward knot. “Then why? We’re not really dating you know.”

Bucky licked his lips. Why had he offered? Because he felt guilty about the day he’d ditched Tony alone or because despite his jokes he could see how much Tony had wanted to come to this exhibition and some part of him had pitied the boy?

“Because we're friends.” He said at last.

Tony was looking at him again, his features wavering into an increasingly familiar expression of wary uncertainty and faint trembling want. Bucky sometimes thought Tony looked like a man starving from want.

“Well, I’ll at least buy your ticket,” Tony said finally, full of bluster even as his eyes slid away to avoid Bucky’s gaze. “I’m not letting you just wait in the car, you need the chance to study.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Bucky said, hand pressing over his heart.

Tony rolled his eyes but there was a smile on his face, softer than the shark-toothed grins Bucky was used to Tony flashing in his direction.

The queue to the exhibition was long, snaking its way outside and along the chilled pavement. By the time Bucky and Tony entered the museum they were dehydrated and sweating in their winter layers. Tony got his second wind once the tickets were in his hand, bouncing excitedly on the spot. Bucky grabbed him by the collar before he could dart off, dragging him towards the café.

“Water first.” He demanded.

Tony waved sadly at the exhibition but let himself be manhandled away without complaint. Bucky offered to get the drinks which was mostly just a ploy so he could also get sandwiches and cakes. At Tony’s questioning look Bucky raised an eyebrow, his mouth stretched around one half of a ham and cheese panini and defensively explained that he needed fuel to maintain his growth.

Tony narrowed his eyes and slurped noisily on his coke. His lack of comment was, Bucky suspected, out of self-preservation more than anything. Tony didn’t seem to be having the growth spurt that Bucky or many other boys in their year were going through and remained an increasingly long hair beneath average.

Bucky nudged a thick, pink icing encrusted donut into the middle of the table as a peace offering.

“Bucky?” Bucky glanced up to see Bruce Banner shuffling towards them.

Bruce was more Steve’s friend than his, a quiet intelligent guy who had surprised them all at the start of the semester by getting into a massive fight and pounding the shit out Rumlow. Proving yet again that people really did punch Rumlow a lot when they first met him and that punching Rumlow was enough to make anyone automatically one of Steve and Bucky’s friends.

“Oh, hi Bruce,” Bucky croaked, feeling himself freeze as Bruce looked at him and Tony and the shared donut between them.

“I didn’t know you liked astronomy,” Bruce said politely.

“Tony does,” Bucky said automatically. Tony waved in Bruce’s direction, uncaring of the increasing awkward atmosphere.

“Oh, yes. Steve mentioned you two were dating.” Bruce smiled. Bucky had to bite back the automatic denial that rushed to his tongue, reminding himself that as far as everyone knew he and Tony were dating.

Bucky smiled back awkwardly, the expression uncomfortable on his face, like a mask ready to slid off at the first hint of movement. A long moment of silence strung out between them and Bucky could feel nervous energy coiling up through his limbs, a familiar fight or flight reflex in the face of confrontation.

“Err, well,” Bruce said finally, eyes shifting towards the door. “I’ll leave you two to your date then.”

“Ok, bye.” Bucky held his smile for only as long as Bruce was in sight, sinking down to rest his face in his hands with a groan.

“Way to make a man feel good,” Tony joked, his tone sharp. He was slumped in the worn wooden chair, fingers ripping and twisting the napkin before him.

“Sorry, it’s not you.” Bucky sighed, unsure of how to explain why Bruce’s innocent question had made him feel like he wanted to run away and hide. For a moment he had forgotten about his and Tony's deal; the reminder that they weren't friends, that Tony didn't even like him, that all of this was fake had stung somehow. “I’m just starting to feel that this lie is growing out of my control.”

Tony dropped the napkin onto the table, slowly pushing the shredded paper into an unstable hill. “We can always stage a breakup.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Not yet."

“Right.” Tony pushed his plate away and stood up, his smile stretched wide across his otherwise unmoving face, “I want to go to the exhibition now, you’ve made me wait long enough.”

The exhibition was more interesting that Bucky could have imagined, the evolution of stargazing equipment was laid out, spiralling around the room in neat black exhibition stands. Having Tony explain everything helped, he seemed to know the history of every telescope and their creators.

“How do you remember all this?” Bucky asked impressed.

Tony shrugged, peering at him through one of the old inverted lenses. “I have a photographic memory and I’m just really smart.”

“How come you haven’t skipped grades?”

Tony shrugged, “Well I skipped one but my mother wants,” Tony’s speech ground to a halt. He coughed before continuing. “My mother wanted me to have friends, peers my own age. And well my dad can’t stand the thought of not being the smartest Stark anymore.” The last sentence was quieter, sharp with bitterness.

Tony suddenly grabbed Bucky’s wrist, his hand curling tightly around Bucky’s arm. “Come on, let’s go look at the stars.”

The final centrepiece of the exhibition was a grand dome-shaped room filled with padded reclining chairs. Tony shuffled Bucky along until they were in the centre of the room. Bucky couldn’t help but smile: of course, Tony went for the best seats in the house, uncaring of the glares sent his way as people struggled to inch around them.

Slowly the stark fluorescent lights around them faded and the dome above them was transformed into a skyscape. The blue sky melted to yellows and oranges stripes, darkening through a rainbow of brilliant shades of reds and purples: a sped-up sunset playing out just feet above them. Finally, the fake sky settled into a velvety purple night, dotted with distant, twinkling stars.

“Wow,” Bucky said, unable to hold back his awe.

To his right, Tony glanced over, his body slightly turned towards Bucky, and they shared a smile. In Tony’s dark eyes Orion’s belt was reflected, a chain of silvery shimmering stars shining back at him.

“Wow,” Bucky whispered, his voice lost beneath the audio which had started playing.

It had taken Bucky longer than he liked to admit to realise that Tony was, for all his prickliness and aloofness, desperately lonely. Bucky recognised it in the way Tony reached out for Bucky when they were laughing only to pull away, uncertain wariness in his eyes like a dog waiting to be told off.  It made Bucky sad to see and made him grateful for Steve’s friendship. Bucky had been a lot of things but he’d never been lonely.

Bucky was thinking of Tony and loneliness the next Monday as he approached his friends for lunch. A familiar slender figure was sat sandwiched between Jan and Dugan. Tony was unusually mute, his eyes moving between the other students. If Bucky hadn’t become familiar with Tony’s minute tell-tale mannerism,  he would have said he looked relaxed but he recognised the tightness around Tony’s eyes and the forced, strain of his smile and felt a surge of heated protectiveness.

“Alright, what is this?” Bucky demanded.

“We got tired of waiting for you to introduce us to your boyfriend,” Gabe said, eyebrows wiggling on the word boyfriend.

“We were being friendly, ain’t that right Tony?” Dugan elbowed Tony hard enough to send the smaller boy wobbling over.

Tony rubbed his side, “Friendly like a spider to a fly.” He muttered and Dugan roared with laughter.

“He’s alright. You should have brought him along sooner.”

“Well he’s here now and I think he probably wants rescuing,” Bucky held out a hand and Tony eagerly grasped it, letting himself be pulled up and pressing himself as close as he could get to Bucky without touching. Bucky could feel the faint quiver running through him even with the distance.

“Come sit with us again Tony!” Dugan called, the sentiment echoed by Jan and Gabe.

Bucky put his hand in the small of Tony’s back leading him away. As soon as they were out of sight, Tony released a big shuddering breath.

“You OK?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, yes, they’re nice.” The word sounded strange in Tony’s mouth as if he wasn’t used to saying it. Or, not used to saying it and meaning it.

Bucky snorted, “Sure they are.” He felt light as they walked back to class, the school bell ringing behind them. “Nice like a bunch of braying Hyenas are nice.”

Tony laughed, nodding in agreement.

Yet, somehow it didn’t surprise Bucky to find Tony already sat with Bruce and Jan the next day when he came for lunch. Or every day that week.

[sk19990]

Missing Home

Contunico. (n.d). [Kristallnacht].

Berlin. 1938. 

Hitler has been Chancellor for 5 years now, and a lot has changed since his rise to power. We were once a part of the upper class. We lived in an exclusive part of city where the famous and wealthy lived. My father was a successful banker who worked with high profile corporations and my mother a loving, beautiful housewife. I’m the only child in my family. We are the Goldberg family. 

November 9, 1938: Kristallnacht 

Kristallnacht symbolized one of the greatest acts of hatred and fear waged upon the Jewish population. My father’s office was set ablaze by an angry mob of arsonists and whatever that was left of value was either looted or destroyed. There was a white banner covering the entire width of the building that read, “Jude” with the Star of David next to it. Everything that my father worked for, his pride and joy was reduced to ashes overnight. I’ve never seen such an active display of hatred and I was scared for my life. All of us were. 

January 21, 1939: The Ghettos 

It was early in the morning when I awoke to a loud banging at the door. I thought nothing of it and told my parents that the mailman was at the door. My father opened the door and was met with the barrel of a shotgun aimed at the head. It was the Gestapo at the door. My father knew the risks of staying in Berlin but he insisted that because he worked with government officials, no harm would come to him. He was wrong and it costed us everything. All the Jews in our neighborhood were rounded up and sent to the outskirts of the city. They set up the equivalent of human dog cages for all of us to live in. We were denied exit from our confines, and we were given strict rations of bread and a salted cabbage soup twice a day. If we complained, we were beat or even executed. No one dared speak up. 

July 11, 1941: Extermination 

It’s been 2 years since we were forced into the ghettos. Our neighbors were disappearing one by one, and it was only a matter of time until my family disappeared as well. It was on this fateful day when our family was forcibly crammed into a railroad cart and hauled off to an unknown destination. We arrived after a grueling 6-hour ride. Many of us died from suffocation or were trampled to death. My family was lucky enough to be placed on the outer edges. We arrived in a camp with a tall watchtower, surrounded by razor sharp barbed wire. I knew that we were here to die. We waited a long queue and once it was our turn, we were branded and registered as inmates. We had committed no crime, what was going on? My mother was split from my father and I and to this day, I have no idea where she is. May god bless her soul. 

I miss my mother. I miss my normal life. I miss home. Home sweet home.

Fritz. (n.d). [Auschwitz].

[pureimagineering]

The Audio from the Jungle Cruise's Queue

I'm obsessed with it, but even after working there for a year, I wasn't able to catch everything that Albert AWOL says. So here's a complete transcript.

This post will be TL;DR for most. If you're a freak like me, it will be a delightful read. Either way, sorry!

"Here Comes My Ball and Chain," by the Coon-Sanders Nighthawks

This is Skipper Albert AWOL, the Voice of the Jungle, broadcasting on the DBC to all points unknown! If you’re within the sound of my voice, you are listening to AWOL Airwaves on the DBC.

And now, here’s today’s river tip from Skipper Bill of the Congo Connie. Bill says, “If it rains in the jungle, who cares? That’s why they call it a rainforest!” Thanks, Bill.

Any travelers who may need to exchange foreign currency during their voyage needn’t worry. There are banks all along our rivers.

In addition to beautiful Malaysia, Burma, Siam, and Cambodia, Lotus Tours offers two new destinations: Boston and French Lick, Indiana!

...that can’t be right...!

Uh, correction: that’s "Borneo" and "French Indochina." Bookings may be made at any travel office within a thousand miles of this jungle outpost.

Attention, Skippers! If you’re looking for some variety and need to log extra time at the wheel, another group of...uh...“volunteers” is being shanghaied for nighttime excursions down the Congo. These fascinating cruises through total darkness can be both exhilarating and unpredictable!

All Skippers should take note of the following changes along the Jungle Cruise rivers.

First, it is no longer considered sporty to hold small children over the edge of the boat while traveling through the hippo pool. Contrary to popular belief, this does not stop their ears from wiggling! (That’s the hippos of course, not the children.)

Second, due to the fact that a boatload of passengers onboard Zambesi Zelda entered a Cambodian ruin and failed to come out, any and all temple ruins are now off limits to your cruise!

And finally, passengers requesting extended tours should be referred directly to the Booking Office where they will receive immediate medical treatment.

"With Plenty of Money and You," by Dick Powell

All Skippers-in-Training are required to wear a leopard hatband, so travelers at dockside will know not to board your boats.

We know that communicating on the jungle rivers can be difficult at times, so we’re always glad to pass along warm personal greetings from one Skipper to another! Here’s one now from the Skipper of the Senegal Sal to the Skipper of Irrawaddy Irma: "If you can’t drive, stay off the river." Isn’t that nice?

Attention, Skippers: don’t forget to submit your entries for the “Maim the Croc…” Eh, correction, that’s “NAME the Crocodile” contest. The winner will receive a one-week, all-expenses-paid cruise for one on the jungle river of his choice!

"Jeepers, Creepers" by Louis Armstrong

For safety reasons, all passengers are asked not to feed any animals that may approach your vessel before, during, or after the Jungle Cruise, including the ravenous guides working at the Unload Dock. Thank you.

Friday night’s Jungle River Movie--Tarzan and Me--has been canceled due to the fact that those pesky gorillas have once again borrowed our projector. Any Skipper interested in retrieving the projector will receive a free day’s ration of Banana Bits: the dried fruit of choice among all Jungle Cruise Skippers!

Equatorial Expeditions presents: the Route of the Lost Queen! Two- and three-week journeys are available on a "first come, you must go" basis. Interested parties should contact I.L. Befair at the Office of the Interior.

Mating season has begun at the African elephant staging grounds. All boats are cautioned to use extreme care when traveling through this part of the jungle.

Attention, all Skippers! Tomorrow night’s bachelor party for Skipper Carl--originally scheduled for the African elephant staging grounds--will now be held at the Indian elephant pool. Proper swimwear is mandatory.

"Yes, Yes" by Ambrose with Sam Brown and the Carlyle Cousins

Instructions on how to dock a half-sunken boat will be given this Tuesday morning at Loading Dock Number One. Due to reasons that are more than obvious, these maneuvers will not be open to the public.

Skippers, we have yet to receive any entries for our “Name the Crocodile” contest. Besides a one-week, all-expenses-paid cruise for one on the jungle river of your choice, you will also now receive one slightly used pygmy war canoe! Enter today. Please.

Attention, Skippers: please urge your passengers to disembark on the starboard side of the boat. That’s the side closest to the dock...IF you pull in bow-first.

Attention, passengers: please urge your Skippers to pull into the dock bow-first.

Last week, the River Pilot’s License Test was given to thirty Jungle Cruise Skippers. Congratulations to all those who passed! The remaining twenty-nine pilots may take the test again next month.

May I have your attention, please? If anyone has located a large uncut diamond--weighing approximately sixteen carats--will you please return it to the Lost and Found area? (Pfft, right.)

"Song of India" by Paul Whiteman and His Orchestra

Roam the plains of Africa, India, Ceylon, and Persia with experienced expeditioners! See the rare and unusual from the perch of a pachyderm! Join the Elephant Safari Company as they search for lions, tigers, and bears! (Oh, my!)

Due to capacity limitations on the Jungle Cruise boats, parties of thirty-three should consider dividing their group into two groups of sixteen-and-a-half each.

Here’s today’s Jungle Trivia Questions! One, "What is the correct response when confronted by a crazed charging elephant?" and Two, "How many gorillas does it take to destroy a base camp?" Stay tuned!

Attention, all Skippers! Due to an increase in piranha activity along the rivers, you are now required to update the "Missing Persons" board at the end of each cruise.

Attention, all travelers! If your name is added to the "Missing Persons" list at the end of your cruise, please accept in advance our most sincere apologies! Thank you.

"It’s the Girl" by the Boswell Sisters

Jungle Skippers: don’t forget to keep extra oars handy on your ship! That way you won’t find yourself stranded up the river without a paddle!

For safety reasons, individuals are not allowed to take home pets which have been collected while on the Jungle Cruise.

And now today’s survival tip: when confronted by a charging rhino, head for the nearest tree and climb fast! Failure to follow these instructions may result in pointed confrontations.

Congratulations to our dockside crew, who won their first cricket match of the season. We understand it was an overwhelming victory!

(A what? A forfeit?)

And next week--when the opposing team shows up--I am sure they'll do just as well!

"Rhythm King" by the Coon-Sanders Nighthawks

Come drift into an era of kings and golden idols! Discover what you would have never missed if you had never seen it in the first place! It’s another amazing Amazonian river fantasy from the Jungle Navigation Company!

Listen up, Skippers! Your chance to enter the “Name the Crocodile” contest is just about over. Come on, fellas! Not only will you win a one-week, all-expenses-paid cruise for one on the jungle river of your choice, and one slightly used pygmy war canoe, but you’ll also now get--absolutely free--a full volume set of “Teach Yourself Swahili” just for entering!

Remember, “Wasio na hofu” is Swahili for “They who have no fear.” And “Matoi mbuzi katikka nyumba um teea katikka kebanda chakke” means “Take the goat out of the house and put it in its shed.”

All boat captains, please be advised that there have been several reports of aggressive butterflies along the inner banks of the Amazon River. Three guests have reported minor confrontations. To minimize the chance of future injuries, Butterfly Repellent is strongly recommended!

Attention, all passengers! Attention, all passengers! A rather large leopard has recently been seen in the vicinity! The animal can be identified by its razor-sharp teeth, long menacing claws, and a loud ferocious growl. If spotted, please contact the local authorities immediately.

The leopard snarls in the background.

Oh, dear. Uhh, never mind. We seem to have found him!

The leopard roars.

...nice pussycat...!

"Love is Good for Anything That Ails You" by Ida Sue McCune

And now, here are the answers to our Jungle Trivia Questions! The correct response to a crazed charging elephant is, “Auuugh! Auuuuugh!” and it takes an average of eight minutes for a family of gorillas to destroy a typical base camp.

Will the owner of a blue jeep, license number...uh, well, it doesn’t have a license plate. At least, not anymore! Will the owner please contact the office of the Minister of Transportation immediately? Your vehicle has...turned up at a nearby base camp.

This is Skipper Albert AWOL, the Voice of the Jungle, broadcasting on the DBC to all points unknown! If you’re within the sound of my voice, you are listening to AWOL Airwaves on the DBC.

"Harlem River Quiver" by Duke Ellington

The DBC is proud--and financially pleased--to welcome a new sponsor to the AWOL Airwaves! It’s Aero Casablanca! As an introductory offer, all Jungle Cruise personnel will receive discounted fares on Aero Casablanca’s Belgian Congo River tour. All flights must be booked at least two minutes in advance of takeoff and stays in the Congo region must be for a minimum of twenty-five years. Fly the skies of Aero Casablanca: the airline no one comes back on!

All travelers should be aware that herds of elephants have been seen bathing in several regions of the Mekong River. Since these animals have been known to spray water at passing boats, you are advised to wear the appropriate attire. Or bring an umbrella.

Recent reports of giant pythons have been greatly exaggerated! These reptiles cannot digest children weighing over sixty pounds in a single bite! The largest child they can consume at any one time would have to weigh less than forty-five pounds.

Attention! Will the Skipper of the Nile Nellie please move your vessel? You’re docked in a No-Floating Zone.

The previously announced "Name the Crocodile" contest has been suspended due to an acute shortage of entries. If anyone has any ideas about naming our pet croc, please drop them off at the Office Depot! Not to worry; you won’t have to accept any of the prizes.

Now available: one full volume set of “Teach Yourself Swahili!” Yours, just for the asking, at the Office Depot!

"What a Girl, What a Night" by the Coon-Sanders Nighthawks

Due to local monsoons, the demonstration on how to waterproof your vessel has been rained out.

Here’s a message from Sir Henry Morton Stanley to...I...I can’t quite make out this name. It’s “Dr. Livingston,” I presume? Please meet Sir Stanley at the falls.

This week’s Special Guest Skipper is Admiral Bartholomew Wrongway! Admiral Wrongway will be piloting several excursions into the deepest, most dangerous regions of the Congo! Since the Admiral is new to the area--and as such, quite unfamiliar with our waterways--it is recommended that you steer clear of his vessel.

In keeping with jungle tradition, all guests now waiting in line to board Jungle Cruise boats are urged to raise their hands high above their heads and imitate the sounds of their favorite jungle animals!

Will Colonel Williamso--

AWOL coughs.

Excuse me. Uh-hem. I seem to have something in my throat!

AWOL clears his throat until it culminates in a Tarzan yell.

Much better! Will Colonel Williamson please report to the Minister General’s office? Thank you.

"Diga Diga Doo" by Duke Ellington

Rivers of the Pharaohs: excursions to the land that time forgot...and so will you. Sign up today for the adventure of someone else’s lifetime.

We’d like to thank the headmaster at the Library of Lost American Melodies in Minous for supplying us with this fine assortment of music for our dockside entertainment.

The Docking Zone is for loading and unloading only.

The Loading Zone is for docking purposes only.

The Unloading Zone is for purposes unlike those of the Loading and Docking Zones.

Any passengers with experience in piloting a riverboat should give their name to the Skipper upon boarding. (Just in case.)

In the world of science, recent research has uncovered the fact that certain species of crocodiles are repelled by brightly colored clothing!

As a reminder: passengers traveling on the Nile should consider wearing brightly colored clothing during their cruise.

"Anything Goes Selections" by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra, Ramona Healy, and Hauser Laurence

Fishing from the sides of the Jungle Cruise boats is strictly prohibited. (Unless of course you happen to be fishing a relative out of the crocodile-infested waters of the Nile River.)

If your vessel needs repairs, please see our mechanic, located at the Boat Storage area. It is not proper to remove parts from other Skippers’ boats. Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated.

Doctor Hugo Squirtum’s popular pachyderm lecture series will continue on Saturday night at the Jungle Trading Post. This week's lecture, “Elephant Trunks: Part Drinking Straw, Part Water Pistol,” will focus on the many ways elephants use their flexible appendage for nourishment, skin care, and friendly contact!

"Let's Misbehave" by Irving Aaronson and His Commanders

Those individuals waiting in line for the Annual Platypus Sightseeing Expedition should check in with the Booking Office immediately! Someone made a rather nasty mistake on your vacation destination. Sorry!

Attention, children: please be advised that there are reports of wild adults roaming the area! Thank you.

Skippers: only animals--not guests--are permitted to graze while in the rainforest.

Will the Jungle Cruise Skipper in khaki fatigues please report to the boat storage area? I’m sorry, let me clarify that: the Jungle Cruise Skipper in khaki fatigues working on the dock wearing the neat-looking hat and black walking shoes, answering to “Hey, You!” please report to the boat storage area.

"Painting the Clouds with Sunshine" by the Jack Hylton Orchestra

Here’s a helpful hint for all would-be jungle explorers! When observing wildlife in this region, it is important to blend in with the natural surroundings. That means remaining still while trying to look as green as possible.

If anyone sees the Skipper of the Orinoco Ida, please tell him that his last group of passengers has just returned to the dock with his boat.

Will the individual who left a box of small furry things by the Purser’s Office please come to reclaim them? They seem to be quite hungry.

The winning entrée from this month’s cooking competition is bamboo stew with shredded vine stems. Skipper Doug--our floating gourmet--recently tried this unusual dish and told us, “It tastes like chicken!” He was quick to add however, “So does everything else we cook around here.” Thanks, Doug.

"The Mooche" by Duke Ellington

Attention, navigators! Revised maps of the jungle areas have been completed, and should arrive the day after tomorrow, if the courier can find his way here.

Will world famous paleontologist, Dr. Cornelius Bifocal, please return the dinosaur coloring book--and crayons--he borrowed from the Dispatch Office?

Due to a recent outpouring of rain in our area, the Nile River is extremely wet today. Please drive slowly!

Guests arriving at dockside for the Jungle Cruise must check their baggage with the dockmaster. This includes all wild animals and children under the age of five.

Passengers returning from the jungle are advised to hold their baggage claim tickets until all belongs have been secured. Guests not returning needn’t worry about it.

Attention, all Skippers: several well-known photojournalists will be boarding our boats today for photographic studies of the region. However, in order to minimize any disruption of our tours, they will be disguised as local tourists. If you should happen to spot one, please do not ask for autographs.

"The King's Horses and the King's Men" by the Jack Hylton Orchestra

Individuals taking excursions into the Congo should provide their own drinking water and rations, since snacks will not be served.

Since our weekly shipment of tea has been delayed, papaya juice will now be served at the four o'clock hour. As always, day-old crumpets will still be available!

All crew members should secure a spot in the bunkhouse as soon as possible! And remember, if you walk in your sleep, don’t forget to don your bathing cap before retiring this evening.

For sale: late model war canoe. Hand-carved wood interior, dual paddles, and naturally air-conditioned! Interested parties should respond through the grapevine.

[mephistophelianmusingsxo]

Les Loups de Paris

It is the Winter of 1450, cold, dreary and uneventful, the layers of snow that blanket the ground prove difficult to merchants trying to make their due. This year, winter is particularly unforgiving and harsh, all prey is scarce, even we – The Royals are devastated. I have not seen a Winter so bad since I was a girl, tucked in the nursery, warm and cosy, nescient to the bitterness that swirls a rage outside the Court and into the hearts of commoners outside Palace walls, demanding we feed our population. I cannot say much on the matter of our government, a Lady is never privy to circumstances that require men, we are too fragile and unintelligent enough to grasp that our Country is in a state of turmoil. Farms and Forests are pushed to their limits so that we may feed our civilians. It has been a century of suffering, France has endured brutal warfare over the ownership of the French Crown. Pulling my cloak tighter around me, I perched upon the now frozen edge of Fontaine des Innocents, watching city life bustle by. It has taken me what lifetime I have lived to perfect this, it is only when alone I’m able to feel content, young brash and eager must always break silence, it’s a great shame as silence is the purest when you allow it, like now, silence is holy, without speech it has brought a woman to my side, we do not speak but I know she is there, clutching at her rags for warmth. The Intense feudal agriculture and poor game management practices have created an ecological catastrophe throughout my City, there are fewer beggars; polar conditions have claimed them before starvation can, it is quite sad really, the French people are under extreme burdens to survive. It is not often that I am afforded the luxury of exploring the thriving Capital alone, and if I am, I’m surrounded by an entourage of Palace guards, because I’m deemed incapable of navigating my surroundings myself. I laugh, it’s delicate as not to bring attention to myself, I have the ability and integrity, quite clearly, I have managed to bribe the inexperienced squabs at the gates with a promised kiss if they allowed me my time and freedom. Simpletons, as if I would kiss anyone lesser than myself, I do not give to charity unless deemed essential, nor do I present worth to inconsequential. Sitting, I have realised that you can learn from the silence, it’s dimension is its own and my City is silent, it does not weep for our Hundred Years War, for the famine and desolation but for the silence itself. Everything has gone black, desperation has turned frantic, eyes dulled by sterility have now turned black with hopelessness. When and if these commoners survive the extreme Winter, despondency shall not immediately end. We are all the same in times of need, I am neither more important or superior to be unaffected by prowling famine. 

Night has fallen much sooner than I had expected, light diminished in a blink of an eye and the birds no longer sing or chirp, they too have succumbed to silence. Emerging from the blinding white snow came the deafening screams, I scarcely believe are from the mouths of my own people. Within in me my heart stops, at first, they were only but a mystery, unbeknownst to me and all surrounding, a horror that is far off and indifferent in my immediate vicinity. Then, emerging from the blinding white snow came the werewolves, immune to the bitter wind that cut into my skin like razor sharp knives, blanching my chattering lips. At first, they were no more than silhouettes, shapes in the darkness; their growling carried away in the screams. But as they neared, they become discernible, fur thick, sleek and shining like broken glass, with whatever hue their hair colour had been hours ago. Clutching at my skirts, I ran. The night is black and I cannot see any stars, my world now felt as depthless as the sky was black, I know I cannot run from this, I cannot run from them. There is no place far enough but I must try. Shedding my cloak and shoes, I refuse to be held back by the limitations women face with attire. There is nothing now but the shifting depth of night, not even the screams are noticeable over my own thundering heart. Without the soft tenderness of my shoes, bare feet echo against frozen stones, I should never have chosen to discard my shoes, the soles of my feet are punctured and sting with every bounding step, but at least I am alive. Leaving behind a shocking red, so vibrant and bright, it buzzes. This blood of mine will be the only thing left to live tonight. Every second of my search for safety is a second closer to meeting God and my eternity, I do not want to die. Not like this. Eaten to death by famished Wolves of the Forrest, torn apart like I am fair game. A single tear rolls down my cheek, I long to wander the castle walls in boredom, to hear the rustle of bed clothes as I slip into bed beside Sisto. Forbidden as it may be, my father knows nothing about the thousands of rendezvous. Harshly, I wipe the fallen tear. Crying will neither save me or conceal me. I am still here and I have all of it, hope, courage, bravery, I have them all, fleeting and gone in the blink of an eye; I have them. The woods are silent and dark as I blindly stumble over kernels and roots in the Frosty night air; here stars shine, they are ignorant to the slaughtering of my cities people, they watch me, bright eyed, as if they are alive and judging. This would never have become a reality, this disastrous night I’m trying to run from, it would have been a nightmare, soothed by the gentle murmurings of a mother to her child, had it not been for the cities walls falling in to despair, developing breeches that have allowed horror to envelope Paris in a single night. I would have been safe, we all would. I knew it was coming it was only a matter of time before they caught me, the feeling of untamed anxiety tells me so, I am no longer alone but in the company of a Wolf. I do not want to turn around, to look into its blood thirsty eyes as it tears my heart from my chest but I cannot help myself. Slowly, almost barely I begin to turn around. I stare at the razor-sharp fangs, dripping a river of blood, crimson eyes so full of inanition that I can almost pity the beast’s misfortune. But it is I that has the greatest misfortune tonight, while it eats from the flesh of its victims, my life will be but another dot on the horizon. Time holds me nowhere, it has stopped entirely, neither myself or the wolf before me make any attempt at movement, we stand for what seems like forever staring at one another. I’m afraid I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks creating a slender track of looking glass, my bravery has all ran out. I would fall to my knees and beg if I thought it would make any difference. It’s a sad reality, I will die at the hands of mother nature’s beauty; it stands before me, towering; lean and muscular, it’s fur almost black but with hints of rusted steel flecking it’s coat and its tail or rather lack of, is only a small queue, adding to its ferocity. There is nothing now but the impatient growl of building hunger, it lunges at me jaws snapping fervently for flesh that is white as pearls. Razor-sharp teeth puncture the flesh on my side, each an unforgiving singe like a hot poker. I cannot feel anything but the agonising reality that this is the pain of dying; I’m floating free, as if I was one with the wind, unhampered by time or feeling, free from gravity. I should never have been here, or anywhere for that matter. Consciousness is passing, a brief swoosh and its gone; a winged messenger. Death is looming and I’m not ready to go, with the unheard ticking of a clock, my heart is still beating and I’m surviving.

[travelworldnetwork]

Excursion to the beautiful iced rocks of Horin-Irgi or Cape Kobyliya Golova on frozen Lake Baikal. Photo: Shutterstock

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Siberia's cold is unfathomable. It wraps its savage fingers around my neck and crushes the tips of my fingers. It grates my lungs with every razor-sharp intake of breath. It freezes my brain so I can no longer comprehend what the Old Believer, an Orthodox priest, is saying. His black cassock is rigid with cold, his beard a cascade of icicles, his words a warm spill promptly vaporised on the chilled air. What on earth possessed us to come to this most infamous of outposts, this far-flung emptiness where people have been sent to die – or to live, improbably – and in this least humane of seasons?

Nine days and more than 5000 kilometres earlier, we're oblivious to what awaits us as we bathe in the weak sunshine that's broken briefly through a snow shower and is casting long shadows and buttery columns along a charming Moscow prospect. The temperature is a mere minus-four degrees – a veritable summer compared to the frozen perdition we will face down the line.

Still, the cold here is impressive. We snap-chill a bottle of wine in the snow that's powdering our hotel windowsill. We blink away whirling snowflakes and wrap scarves around our tender noses while queuing to see Lenin's corpse lying waxy and wan and warmer-than-the-living in his sombre mausoleum. As we walk back from a supermarket one evening, I slip on black ice and am hauled to my feet by two men even as I am falling, even as the contents of my shopping bag are rolling downhill.

Frozen waves at lake Baikal. Photo: Alamy

"Spasibo!" I cry out in response – thank you – and they nod nonchalantly. They are well-practised in the rescue of random ice-trippers, these men.

What are we doing here, in the darkest depths of a Russian winter? Attending to priorities: it's my birthday in early January (a significant one), and to celebrate I'm taking the train from Moscow to Vladivostok. What a pity I wasn't born in June.

I'm joined in my Arctic wanderings by 10 family members – an audacious gang of parents, young adult children and a couple of brave boyfriends (the cold is the least of their worries, I imagine). Swaddled gamely against the extremes, they lug small libraries with which to occupy their minds on this interminable journey, and mental fortitude with which to face off against the infernal cold.

COLDER BY DEGREES

At midnight we board the train at Moscow's Yaroslavsky Railway Station, stopping just long enough in the bitter freeze to acknowledge the monument marking the starting point of the fabled Trans-Siberian railway. The route arcs in a broad south-westerly sweep, traversing 9288 kilometres and seven time zones before terminating in Russia's Far Eastern naval garrison, Vladivostok. It is the longest railway line in the world.

The Ural Mountains are cloaked in darkness when we pull into Yekaterinburg in the early hours of the morning. For 33 hours we've peered out from our compact, four-berth compartments at the uncoiling landscape, at fluorescent cities dimming into canvasses of black ink; at forests glittering with diamond snowflakes; at swathes of farmland gradually solidifying into cities then disintegrating again into empty fields of snow. Overzealous heating has shielded us from an ever-changing climate; we step off the train into an incomprehensible minus-18 degrees.

It's New Year's Eve. Yekaterinburg is lit up like a carnival, the Iset River is a boulevard of ice. The Gosudarstvennyy Akademicheskiy Theatre stands like a baroque wedding cake on a bed of snow. Inside, we queue at the coat racks where patrons throw off heavy swaddling to reveal glamorous frocks forced into hiding by the cold. We join them in jubilantly bravo-ing a performance of The Nutcracker, a Christmas spectacle manifesting onstage in vivid counterpoint to the frosted scenes outside. "Zazdarovye!" we cry at midnight, farewelling the old year with shots of vodka and welcoming the new with flutes of champagne.

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FROM TSARS TO SAINTS

Yekaterinburg is a city of death and rebirth, of constructivist architecture built on the foundations of the Bolshevik Revolution and the execution of the Romanovs here in 1918. Though writers passing through on their way to Siberia recalled an unpleasantly industrialised settlement, Soviet poet Vladimir Mayakovsky​ was deeply impressed by the spirit and ideas of the people, says local guide Olga Taranenko.

"They decided to destroy everything that reminded them of the old regime, and construct a new city."

But the new has been replaced with the old: churches have been re-consecrated and the once-reviled Romanovs – Tsar Nicholas II, his wife and five children – canonised. A cathedral stands on the site where the family died, its red granite walls "reminding us of the bloody events", Taranenko says. Even their once-secret burial site outside the city is now sanctified, a cluster of buildings comprising a monastery dedicated to the Romanov saints. Their remains were removed from here and interred in St Petersburg in 1998.

St. Basil's Cathedral and Spassky Tower on Red Square in Moscow on a summer evening. Photo: Shutterstock

IN SIBERIA

It takes 63 hours to reach Ulan-Ude, capital of the autonomous Republic of Buryatia​. We sail from Europe into Asia, crossing oceans of snow, passing railway stations licked with bright paint and fitted with neon signs alerting us to the temperature: minus-22 at Omsk, minus-20 at Barabinsk where we emerge from the train's swelter into a cold so strident it cleanses our stale bodies and shocks us awake. We buy pierogi stuffed with cabbage and potato at a platform kiosk and watch as a railroad engineer crawls beneath the train, lies upon the snow-caked tracks and fiddles imperturbably with the frozen undercarriage.

Somewhere near Novosibirsk​ four men appear in our compartment doorway and sing us a song. They're from Perm, and are on their way to Lake Baikal to ice-skate. We applaud their cheerful ditty, though we've understood not a single word.

"You write about Baikal?" asks one of them, spying my notebook. I nod; he punches the air with his fist. "Baikal you will love," he says. ''Thank you for visiting in its most beautiful season."

Sledding across the ice of Lake Baikal. Photo: Alamy

On the second day of this leg I awake to flooding, late-morning light. I've missed the Yenisei River and an endlessly evolving landscape. We're fast-forwarding through time, gaining hours as we race away from the sun. Our group sprawls across several compartments, locked in games of chess, trapped inside books, embroiled in conversations or hypnotised by the Siberia scrolling by through ice-rimed windows. At mealtimes, the youngsters squeeze into the parents' compartment for makeshift feasts we've cobbled from shops and stalls along the way: bread and cheese and salami, instant mash, caviar sold by platform hawkers for a handful of rubles.

On the third day, I wake before dawn. We've halted in Irkutsk​; I climb from the train into an ethereal gloom. The train recedes along the tracks, its outermost carriages erased by the silvered fog. It's minus-36 degrees, and today I turn 50. Never have I've felt so cold, nor so joyfully alive.

A LAKE FROZEN IN TIME

All day long the train crawls along the south-eastern edge of Lake Baikal. The water sloshes sluggishly, turns gradually to slush and then to solid ice as we curve northwards along the lake's eastern shoreline. Opposite it, fields slope into gullies, snowy whitecaps ripple the plains, fog cushions the tree-line like some mammoth exhalation. We see runnels protruding like ribcages from beneath thin coatings of ice; buckwheat might still be farmed here, says our guide Ksenia Martynova, though after the collapse of the Soviet Union many of Siberia's farms fell into ruin, too.

Temple of St. Sergius of Radonezh – the Monastery of the Holy Imperial Passion-Bearers. Photo: Alamy

Lake Baikal is the low-point of our journey; the temperatures plumb those unfathomable depths, tearing the breath from our lungs and freezing the blood in our veins. It's the high point of our journey, too, for this place is so otherworldly, so far beyond our imaginings, it stuns us into wakefulness and renewed gratitude for the world. So extraordinary is this shared experience, it will bind our family forever.

We disembark at Buryatia's capital Ulan-Ude, a city that embodies the great collision between Europe and Asia, Russia and Mongolia, Christian Orthodoxy and Buddhism. Stray dogs wag their tails, oblivious to cold, it seems; residents stride along streets wreathed with glacial condensation.

"The real Siberian is not the person who doesn't feel the cold," says local guide Goldan Lenkhoboev. "It's the person who dresses properly for it."

Our own polar-wear has served us well until now, but the cold seeps into our marrow in the village of Tarbagatay, where Fr Aleksei shows us around the ethnography museum he's curated. It's a flimsy, unheated space filled with artefacts belonging to Old Believers – Orthodox Christians who were exiled or fled from European Russia in the 17th century in the wake of church reforms, and whose way of life has changed little since then. The cold here is so piercing I can barely focus; it's a visceral reminder of the conditions into which Fr Aleksei's people – and so many others – were once cruelly banished.

We've seen not a single tourist on our journey so far, and now we have the whole of Sukhaya village to ourselves – except for the young Russian men doing burnouts in their Ladas on the ice-slicked shores of Lake Baikal. This fabled body of water – the world's deepest lake and the largest freshwater lake by volume – extends beyond the village in a brumous mass. It has put up a valiant fight against the deep freeze: waves heave and buck and petrify midair. The ice splinters beneath our boots, and when we skate on it the next day we notice air bubbles and water lilies trapped beneath its surface.

On Orthodox Christmas Eve, January 6, we drip sweat inside the banya (traditional sauna) at our guesthouse, submit to Martynova's birch whips – said to improve lymphatic flow – then run outside and smother ourselves in snow. Finally, we're learning to embrace the cold.

THE END OF THE LINE

It's another 62 hours from Ulan-Ude to Vladivostok. The frostbitten landscape flicks past our windows like a slideshow. It's inconceivable, from within the confines of this overheated compartment, that the conditions unspooling outside might kill us if we immersed ourselves in them unprotected; the snow-draped fields are beaches of silica, the larch trees jaunty filigrees against a blue sky. Young marines bound for the naval city run for the train, their breath puffs of smoke on the chill air; the temperature is slowly rising: minus 20, minus 15, minus 10, the neon signs say. A cook comes around sporadically with freshly made pierogis; we lie in wait and clear her tray in exchange for a few rubles.

At Khabarovsk the railway doglegs southwards. We will the train to slow down, but at dawn it pulls into Vladivostok. This is a revelation of a city, we will discover, a place of bright skylines and frozen bays, striking harbours and exceptional restaurants. But we're not yet ready to greet it. We linger on the platform – pleasantly bracing at just minus-eight degrees – and pose for a photo beside the monument marking the end of our epic journey. We've travelled 9288 kilometres – a full third of the world's circumferential span. And there's not one of us who wouldn't climb back on that train before it returns to Moscow, and do it all over again.

Catherine Marshall travelled with assistance from Intrepid.

THE TRANS-SIBERIAN IN NUMBERS

9288 kilometres total length, from Moscow to Vladivostok

1916 the year Moscow and Vladivostok were connected via the railway line

7 number of time zones crossed

60 average speed at kilometres per hour reached by the train

1/3: span of the globe covered by the railway line

7 days it takes to complete the journey, without getting off along the way

16 major rivers crossed by the railway

87 towns and cities the railway passes through

FIVE OTHER JOURNEYS WORTH TAKING IN EXTREMES

DEATH VALLEY IN SUMMER

If you visit the US's Death Valley at the height of summer, you might find out just how hot hot can get: 56.7 degrees as measured in 1913, the second hottest temperature on record. As long as you take all the necessary precautions (such as keeping hydrated and ensuring you have mobile contact) you can enjoy the landscape at its most primordial and without the shoulder-season crowds. Or enter the annual midsummer Badwater Ultramarathon, which starts at 85 metres below sea level and ascends 4000 metres across 217 kilometres and three mountain ranges.

VICTORIA FALLS DURING PEAK WATER

You'll need to take a raincoat if you visit this world wonder in the wet season, when islands upstream from the falls – accessible by boat in the dry season – are drowned by summer's deluge. View the spectacle of hundreds of millions of litres of water a minute gushing into the great cataract separating Zimbabwe from Zambia. Peak water, as it's called, runs from around March to June and (in good news for the bottom line) precedes peak season.

AMERICAN MIDWEST DURING TORNADO SEASON

Eye-of-the-storm itineraries exist for those who dream of observing springtime twisters up-close in a region of the American Midwest known as Tornado Alley. Journeys centre on midwestern states such as Texas, Kansas, Oklahoma and Nebraska during May and June. Sightings aren't guaranteed, but participants are likely to see supercell storms and the impressive lightning shows that often accompany them. See stormchasing.com

ICEFIELDS PARKWAY IN WINTER

In winter practically everything is iced over along this 230-kilometre-long route linking Lake Louise and Jasper in Alberta, Canada: lakes, waterfalls, peaks, forests, glaciers and bitumen. Winter tyres or snow chains are essential. Travel cautiously, dress warmly and stop regularly at lookouts for views of glacier-licked valleys and snow-laden forests. Bears will be hibernating but you'll see bighorn sheep, elk and caribou – and possibly wolves.

KAKADU IN THE WET

Most people assume the NT is off limits during the wet season: too damp, too sticky, too hot. But the wet season is a wild and magical time when waterfalls overflow and floodplains brim with water, intensifying the landscape's lushness and attracting numerous birds. Some roads are closed during the wet (which runs from around November to May) limiting access to sites, and animals are more dispersed; but visitors will have the park almost all to themselves – and it will cost as little as half of what it would in the high season.

FIVE MORE GREAT COLD WEATHER JOURNEYS

EUROPE'S CHRISTMAS MARKETS

These festive markets have been brightening winter-darkened cities since the 16th century. Cities such as Prague, Vienna and Berlin are transformed into charming bazaars selling an assortment of artisanal food, arts and crafts and merry experiences. The markets draw crowds onto light-spangled streets – and help draw travellers who might otherwise visit during the continent's unbearably busy summer season.

QUEBEC'S WINTER CARNIVAL

The people of Quebec City have turned their iciest month, February, into a celebration of all things winter: ice slides, outdoor cinema, dance parties and ice-skating, night parades, snow baths, dog sledding and a canoe race in which competitors paddle along the St Lawrence River through masses of ice.

ANTARCTICA

Strictly speaking, a visit to Antarctica is a summertime jaunt, since this is the season when pack ice melts enough to allow cruise ships to pass through. Nonetheless, the landscape is still a magical realm of ice – pack ice, sea ice, icebergs, glaciers and that icy water in which brave adventurers can take the briefest of dips.

GLACIER EXPRESS

This storybook voyage between Zermatt and St Moritz began as a steam train journey ferrying well-heeled holidaymakers between these glitzy Swiss ski resorts. The 275-kilometre route transports passengers through a winter wonderland filled with dazzling mountain peaks, soaring passes and snow-filled valleys.

HARBIN'S ICE FESTIVAL

Residents of this this northern Chinese city harness its unfathomably cold winters during the International Ice and Snow Festival, creating elaborate ice sculptures – including recreations of famous landmarks like the Great Wall of China. Brave festival-goers can join swimmers for a ritual dip in the frozen Songhua River.

TRIP NOTES

MORE

traveller.com.au/russia

russiatourism.ru/en

FLY

Etihad flies to Abu Dhabi twice daily from Sydney and Melbourne and once daily from Brisbane and Perth, with onward connections to Moscow. See: etihad.com. Korean Airlines flies several times a day from Vladivostok to Seoul, with onward connections to Sydney and Brisbane. See koreanair.com

TOUR

Intrepid Travel's 15-day Russia Expedition: Winter Trans-Siberian Adventure is priced from $3055 a person twin share and has many departures beginning from December 2019. Private group bookings are also available. See intrepidtravel.com.au

KEEP WARM

Appropriate winter gear is essential for this journey. For the coldest outdoor excursions, layer clothing in the following sequence: thermal vest and leggings, jeans or thick pants and a long-sleeved shirt, thermal jumper, polar jacket and waterproof shell, tube scarf, beanie, glove liners and waterproof polar gloves. Snow boots paired with warm socks are essential – Sorel and Colombia are highly recommended. Pack lightweight clothing for the train; it will be warm and quite possibly overheated.

STAY SANE ON THE TRAIN

Compartments are compact but comfortable, with two bunks sleeping four people each; clean bedding is provided. There are two toilets with hand basins and cold water at the end of each carriage. A provodnista or provodnik (female or male carriage attendant) is in charge of each carriage; they keep it clean, provide passengers with beverage glasses and ensure the samovar is filled with hot water. It's a good idea to buy a few snacks, teabags or sachets of coffee from them as they receive a small commission from sales and appreciate the custom.

There are regular stops of various durations; schedules are posted in the carriage. There are often kiosks on the platforms or in the stations selling bottled water and food. Some food should also be bought at supermarkets prior to departure since not all trains have dining carriages. The trains are well-used by locals, many of whom will approach foreigners for conversation. Take small gifts from Australia to share with them.

from traveller.com.au

[bluesdoodles]

Skegness Solid Live Music More Blues than Rock in 2017

January drawing to a close, Christmas lights a fading memory. Then your calendar clicks around to Butlins, Skegness for the Great British Rock & Blues Festival, the next year of musical journeys begins. This year the emphasis is on Blues, Rock has fallen if not silent but reduced to a whisper this year, upsetting some and definitely changing the balance and feel of the weekend.

The Introducing Stage got the show underway from 4pm Friday until the early hours of Monday morning. The gaps were minimal the music quality, meeting of friends chatting about what stood out and having fun was the order of the day.  The grumble about the lack of rock was justified. The title of the weekend is Rock & Blues so you would expect a balanced mixture. Everyone who knows me knows that I love my Blues of every hue, but I love the energy of Rock, the power of Rock and energy of the stage shows and this year this injection of power was missed. Without the balance of Rock and Blues, we didn’t have the contrast of razor-sharp, sparkling blues guitar and the full-on power chords and stinging licks of granite fueled rock.

Bluesdoodles, Liz Aiken enjoyed the weekend visiting the stages catching acts, missing others. With four stages this was a hectic few days.  Starting off with the highlights across the days on Introducing Stage, run by Steve Stanley, of Solid Entertainments with the help from Paul Stiles and the Blues In Britain Team to hand out the voting disks.  The Skeggie road takes us to Centre Stage – designated as ‘The Rock Stage’ by the Butlins programming team. The journey continues with a visit to Jaks with its late night sessions jams and a distinctive atmosphere, organised by Blues Matters. Finally, our travels and weary feet take us to Reds, 2017 the Blues stage.  The programming was without argument patchy by the Butlins team what was good was very good, interspersed by mediocre and poor. The Road was definitely a Blue cobbled street rather than a rocky trail throughout the 2017 weekend. Let’s hope this is a transition year and next year the balance between Rock and Blues is restored. There are so many young exciting bands on the circuit that would be delighted to entertain the Skeggie crowds.

Now, for the music. GT’s Boos Band got the show under way and they were one of the thirteen excellent bands who delighted the crowded area at the heart of the Skyline Pavilion.  The bands played for the chance of performing on a stage at Butlins 2018, decided by public vote.  The three successful bands this year were Friday Night – Tom Walker Trio, Saturday, Southbound and the final finalist on Sunday was Greg Coulson Band.  The competition was tough every band bought an interpretation of blues and rock that shows the depth of live music in the UK today. Tom Walker Trio, played a set that sparked including originals and an interesting, entertaining interpretation of Joe Bonamassa’s John Henry. Hitting the authentic blues spot Backwater Roll certainly pleased the audience in a packed area. Saturday night showed that this stage is getting more popular every year as the place to find new festival gems that you will want to see live again. Southbound were great on the night with a live performance showcasing the power of the rhythm section as they delivered their distinctive Blues Rock with a bucket of soul sound thrown in for good measure.  Matt Edwards Band with Stuart Dixon on bass impressed as did their 2015 album Four Berry Jam. Matt has a voice that makes you listen and his guitar playing has an infectious tone. Amy Eftekhari’s performance of Somewhere Over The Rainbow got the crowds purring with delight. Then it was Sunday two performances really stood out and on another day Elles Bailey would have won. Her vocals have power and the addition of Nick Garner on harp added another dimension to this class act; for me the winner of Sunday night. But the popular vote went to Greg Coulson, who delivered by surrounding himself with excellent musicians and a confident stage presence on the day. His experience as keyboardist with The Selectors shone through combined with strong numbers from his forthcoming debut album. This was party music that lit up the Introducing Stage.

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Centre Stage is where queues form every night long before the doors open. At least now they are entertained by the adjacent Introducing Stage. This year designated The Rock Stage for the first time had one certainty rock would be hard to find. Friday night opened with one of last year’s winners Sugarman Sam & The Voodoo Men. Wow, the transition to main stage fitted the band perfectly with a strong set. The music was hefty blues-rock, punctuated with authentic blues licks that curled around the rhythm section. Sugarman Sam, is growing as the new number She’s A Woman demonstrated. The following act was Eric Sardinas & Big Motor highly anticipated and deeply disappointing in the delivery.  Yes, a string did break, but why the length of time off stage, as so many said surely someone of this calibre should have a spare guitar tuned for slide, do a different number or have a guitar tech. It was left to the bass player, Paul Loranger who held the fort not once but twice as Sardinas left the stage and flounced off again. What the band played was good but the flow of the set was disjointed and definitely an off night for this colourful performer of Rock-blues.

Saturday with two sessions the afternoon opened by Texas Flood another winner from 2016. What a winning Rock n’ Roll set. Texas Flood definitely washed away any cobwebs with a rip-roaring high octane set that rocked. This is the rock we want to hear at Skeggie, but why the early timing? It was not as if the evening bands were that exciting. The energy was high, the timing sharp they certainly did Wales proud! The interplay between guitar and bass was sharp and entertaining.  Closing the afternoon the Helen Hardy Band entertained. A good R n’ B band the covers we know and flowed through the auditorium as Saturday afternoon drew to a close.  Saturday night. Kenney Jones & The Jones Gang, may not be classic rock but this was a band that delighted the crowds with songs from his vast back catalogue. Kenney Jones, the drummer who was the heart of three of the great bands The Small Faces, Faces and The Who. The crowd sung along with delight to Itchycoo Park and more.  Leafhound, a rock band were well received with Luke Rayner’s guitar sounding superb, the most underrated of the weekend. (Bluesdoodles spent most of the time in Reds and Jaks this just didn’t rock our boots)

Last day of the festival with a feeling of the night after the day before.  The last of 2016 Introducing Stage winners the Rainbreakers started things off. This is a band that never rains on your parade but brings a ray of sunshine Once again proving what a great launch pad the introducing stage is as they also stepped into Centre stage limelight delivering a storming set. The testimony to this was the queue for the merch as people wanted to get their hands on the latest E.P.  Rise Up. This was R n’ B with attitude, full of tasty riffs and delicious licks in the eclectic selection of numbers. A class act with loads of potential to be a name on everyone’s lips. Popa Chubby Band closed out the afternoon with his own brand of Blues and R n’ B with his trademarked lead breaks, held together by a solid rhythm section. The crowd really warmed to him many hearing him for the first time. Definitely class blues BUT definitely not Rock as Poppa described his music as Working Class Blues.  The night was not about rock but there were three acts that delighted the audiences. Kicking off the double celebration of the Rocking Blues was Laurence Jones with his new line-up. He built the energy, excited the packed house, the guitar was sweet. Laurence full of confidence gained from years of touring and playing live across Europe and the UK. The set was one-hundred percent Laurence with ribbons and bells as he showcased his latest album Take Me High. That is definitely what he did he took us high in to a dazzling blue encrusted music with the edge of rock  With Joanne Shaw Taylor up next we were going to be in for a Wild ride. Reflecting her current album, the set was full of deep blues riffs and licks that curled around the audience with a sensuous and stylish flow.  The interaction between Joanne and her bassist Luigi Casanova adds energy a visual focal point. Then she breaks away and soars into her renowned guitar solos that hit the spot where musical memories are made. Tonight, was the best I had heard her vocals the balance was perfect so voice and guitar were in balanced harmony. Closing out the festival on Centre Stage was Steve Harley & Cockney Rebel where many re-lived memories and reminded many of the sound track of their youth.

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The weekend selection at Jaks was vast, full of delights and festival gems plus the fun of Saturday afternoon Jam. Ranging from the gently harmonious blues from Fran McGillivray to the dynamic sounds of blues with a punk attitude and sassy energy from the Husky Tones as this duo caught your attention. With a new album out soon this is a band we will be hearing lots of as they ask  Who Will I Turn To Now? Closing the night as the other stages fell silent we danced into the early hours with The Revolutionaires led by the charismatic and energetic Ed Stephenson.  Saturday afternoon is all about the Jam which two young men, Mikey Maclennan and Steve Liddle ran with style as unfortunately Jam stalwart Gary Boner from Roadhouse was unwell following a recent operation. Everyone wishes Gary a speedy recovery and a hearty welcome back to Skegness 2018. Saturday evening was a night of magic live-music. With two of the acts for many the bands of the weekend. Firstly Catfish who played a blinding set. Deep emotional blues full of verve and style as Matthew Long with his voice and guitar dominated the stage capturing the audience so that no-one was tempted away. Catfish’s rendition of Make It Rain was stunning and the emotions were charged and there were tears of joy as the passions of the audience and the band connected. Their new album, out 28th January, Broken Man will be a hit of 2017 there is definitely nothing broken about this band.  How do you follow that with Dom Pipkin & The Ikos and some New Orleans infused music. Closing the night and welcoming in Sunday were LaVendore Rogue. A band that is like marmite with the supporters outweighing those who cannot connect to their interpretation of the blues. Mixing up the set with old Hokie Joint numbers and tracks from the debut album, Light Up With they definitely shone music into our soul tonight.  Sunday evening, without Roadhouse they pulled a blinder by filling the gap with Ash Wilson. The anticipation was high, many had seen him play dual guitar in the Sean Webster Band. On stage he was joined by Bob Fridzema and Roger Inniss who played on his debut album, Broken Machine. Joining him on drums tonight was Wayne Proctor sitting in for his brother Phil Wilson who was otherwise engaged playing drums with Laurence Jones on Centre Stage. The set was mature, accomplished a quality performance of R n’B from everyone on stage. We heard covers like My Babe done the Ash way.  Ash’s vocals are strong at times sounding like molasses with the bass drum the heartbeat like cotton popping in a sun-drenched field as he  Holding Hands was sung. The Revelator a Jesse Davey number picked up the tempo. There was a pure synergy between these top drawer blues musicians a delight to behold and listen to.   Be delighted to see him on the Blues main stage next year.  Following this Will Johns & Friends, with Mikey Maclennan once again coming to the rescue as stand-in drummer. He met Will and the band a few minutes before stepping on Jaks stage with them to play a festival set. What a brilliant job he did. Very entertaining with witty repartee, brilliant guitar with a fantastic tone. What a high quality set of blues. The festival had one more act as the clocked turned into Monday, Jaks was packed as everyone squeezed a few more musical memories out of The Great Rock & Blues Festival 2017. Kris Barras Band, who delivered blues rock with power and a force to be reckoned with. Another live act that delivers every time building on the studio sound heard in their current album Lucky 13.  Blues Matters once again delivered music that will hold many memories and hats off to the DJ Clive Rawlings who each year acts as the glue that held the sessions together.

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Reds this year was coloured with Blues of every hue and shade.  With Friday and Saturday dedicated to firstly to the harmonica and then to Alligator Records. Opening the festival for Reds was A Harmonica Explosion, a night where this German folk instrument was re-shaped in tone and playing by Southern States Blues musicians to be forever connected. Blues and harmonica are a perfect pairing. Opening the night was Giles Robson Band, a very entertaining set engaging the audience who were delighted to participate when asked. The music was an explosion of blues harp as we stepped on board the steam train and followed Giles on a ride full of tonal twists and turns of the blues-harp. Later on in the evening he was joined by three more renowned harp-players Magic Dick, who for some reason was not on top form, James Harman beset with frustrating technical issues so his harp was silent for far too long and the cream of the night a musician on fire Billy Branch. When they all played together at the end of the evening we were treated to a harp firework display.  The acoustic set from Martin Harley opening on Saturday afternoon was a melodic delight as he explored the tonal ranges of his lap Weissenborn guitar. The covers took us deep into the Delta full of acoustic twists and turns gently kick-starting a harmonious Saturday in Reds turned Blue.  The tempo then changed and Reds was packed as loyal fans of Nine Below Zero were once again caressed by the band that knows how to deliver. The only disappointment was this set was on in the afternoon many felt it suited an evening slot. The music drew you in the blues was delivered and everyone left with a deep sigh of contentment. The evening was a celebration of all things Alligator. With a first for Skeggie a Q&A session with Bruce Iglauer President and founder of Alligator records. Lots of interesting questions and we all gained an insight into how a blues label works. Three blinding sets unfurled showing the diversity of electric blues. Marcia Ball got the Alligator Party rocking turning Reds into a Roadhouse for this Blues Spectacular.  Proper Chicago blues played by a wonderful group of musicians who with a smile opened up the joy of the blues and entertained. Marcia Ball sung like an angel accompanying herself on the piano with the musicians that pulled together to showcase the sound they just love to share with everyone who listens. Blues is heavenly when played this well. The harmonious and interesting combination of drum shuffles, sax, keys and the power of vocal lyrics was infectious with the guitar pulling the show together. Wow! How do you follow that? Easy when you have the depth of Alligator artists to choose from. Next up blues with a difference a trio, Moreland and Arbuckle. All eyes are focused on Moreland with his cigar box guitar and Arbuckle’s, harp and vocals. A  high octane band playing Roots music that rocks you  to your core. Electrifying raw delta infused music that gets the adrenalin pumping feet tapping and you get a warm feel good glow as the music surges through your veins.  Closing tonight we headed deep into Southside Chicago for authentic urban blues with Toronzo Cannon. Having learnt his craft in the competitive and demanding Windy city club scene it takes a special blues magic to rise above the crowd. Toronzo has that with style and a flourish as he melds smooth vocals and stinging guitar chords. With a mix of his own numbers with strong lyrics and a couple of covers; what a dynamic end to an evening that enveloped you in Chicago Blues and so much more.

Sunday at Reds was a mixed package for me opening with Lil Jimmy Reed featuring Bob Hall on Keys this was the perfect blues smoothie for early Sunday afternoon. Followed by Paul Jones and Dave Kelly as a duet Sunday was a smooth affair. The evening was a mix David Knopfler on acoustic guitar, disappointed, The Blues Band as ever delivers British blues with style and aplomb. Closing the night is Jamie Williams and The Roots Collective; this is blues infused with English Folk and roots music. Closing the festival on Reds they delivered a stylish set that didn’t for me shout out the blues. Not a celebration but a party we all enjoyed.

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There were many highlights of every Blue hue the strongest stages over the whole festival weekend were Jaks and the Introducing Stage. The night celebrating Alligator Records was a combination of brilliant blues drenched music. The three young bands who won The Introducing Stage Sugarman Sam & The Voodoo Men, Texas Flood and The Rainbreakers, all added a shine to the festival.  Memories of 2017 will be many and all tinged in blue rather than rock. The acts that you should run to see again are Catfish, LaVendore Rogue, Ash Wilson, the winners of the Intro Stage and Elles Bailey. Joanne Shaw Taylor in this form is a force to be reckoned with, Marcia Ball , Moreland & Arbuckle, Toronzo Cannon and the harp supremacy that is Giles Robson.

    Skegness Solid Live Music More Blues than Rock in 2017 Skegness Solid Live Music More Blues than Rock in 2017 January drawing to a close, Christmas lights a fading memory.

[sjworldtour]

26/09/19 getting soaked at Devils throat

We’ve had a couple of days to explore Puerto Iguazu, and have been a bit overwhelmed by both the immense waterfalls and the fantastic rainforest. Still yet to see a jaguar though…

 Yesterday we woke up early and headed to the bus station a few streets away. A bit of a hiccup they wouldn’t take card payment for the bus tickets, annoying because we’ve been being super careful with cash in the hope that we wouldn’t have to get more out, but did need to in the end. Anyway, paid way too much for our money, but successfully got on a bus up to the national Park. The entrance way plaza, large queue to get in, and abundance of souvenir and fast food shops made it feel a lot like a theme park, but as soon as we set off along a trail we were marvelling at the wild rainforest all around. Joey squeaked at every Swiss cheese plant, Mrs Murray would be proud.

We first did the lower trail, which eases you into the waterfall experience with some mini falls – which were in themselves fairly epic – and a great view across the gorge to Brazil. Before long we were looking across at the ridiculously extensive waterfalls, winding our way past the southernmost falls and getting caught in the mist from the splash zones. Lots of very brave birds (dusky swifts) clung to the cliff faces like bats and dove in and out of the jets of water.

Next was the upper trail, a series of boardwalks and bridges over the upper level of the river, where it all looked calm but then ominously disappeared off the razor sharp cliff edge. We took far too many photos. Its actually more like a huge flat flooded plain then a single river channel, which is why the waterfalls extend across such a big area. There were loads of lizards basking in the shallow rocks. We dropped back to the lower trail and had lunch overlooking the waterfall with the most inviting splash pool, although sadly the signs were very clear about not allowing swimming.

After lunch we set off along the train track up to the Devils Throat viewpoint. Most people take the train, which means this part of the park is blissfully quiet (in terms of humans anyway, the Bird noise was immense). The dusty track also made a nice change from the metal floored wooden fenced frails we’d been on in the morning. Sam spotted some toucans in a tree nearby, which was just too exciting for words, and we saw a plethora of other birds and butterflies.

After the train stop, the trail to Devils Throat was busier but we marched on to the viewpoint to get ahead of a rush of people and managed to time it right. We had plenty of time to marvel at the sheer volume of water pouring over the edge here, at the most intense part of the whole array of falls. It was hard for our eyes to focus on the water, and the bottom of the fall was completely invisible, masked by an intense splashback and mist that was blown back up the cliff, soaking us.

We headed back to reality via some huuuge fish, and paused at the train stop to photo hundred of butterflies drinking from a puddle below a dripping tap, although we couldn’t stay still for long without being mugged by coatis. We marched back to the Central area of the park, and out the way we had came, and in the last ten minutes before leaving the park we managed to see both a caiman resting in a muddy pool, and a large iguana casually strolling along a grass verge.

In the evening we went for a dip in the pool at the hostel, and hung out on the decking reading books and chatting to the other guests. We meant three girls, all solo travellers, and we all went out for tacos, chatting about the places we’d been and swapping recommendations. 

Today we packed up in the morning and wandered in to town to rent bikes. We spent a lovely few hours cycling around Puerto Iguazu. We took a wrong turn that was a brilliant mistake as it led us along a red earth track, iconic for the area, through a village of indigenous people, and then became a narrow path that plunged through the rainforest. We were slightly twitchy about the fact we were obviously completely in the wrong place, but enjoyed the secret trail, with banana trees everywhere and occasional bamboo structures which are presumably animal traps. Eventually we popped out on the road we had intended to take, and had a nice but very hot cycle bumbling up and down hills past plush hotels and signs to more local indigenous villages.

Back in the centre of town, we stopped for ice creams and to cool down in a deliciously air conditioned café, then pressed on to the frontier plaza, from where you can look across the confluence of two rivers to see Brazil and Paraguay. There’s a fountain and light show here every evening, which we’ve sadly missed. It was starting to get disgustingly hot, so we returned our bikes, collected our luggage and caught the 2:30pm bus to Brazil.