#it’s all new territory as we just found out a few hours ago

[mysteriousmoss]

hi hello

1. i wish thee a good day

2. i think your sys!martyn meeting my partner's sys!ren would be chaos

3. do u have the link.. to the picrew in ur pfp......

Hello there anon! Hope you’re having a splendid day aswell!

I have no true response to your second thing but I’ll go with it would be chaos!

And the picrew! Sure do have it. Had to go digging. Here ya go

[ragingbookdragon]

Someday We'll Be All That We Need

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: I made a new friend so I made that friend a fic. @temeyes <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Other than the shivering, Simon doesn’t so much as twitch in the corner they’re huddled in. She’s cold herself, but nothing feels as terrifying as losing the man wedged in between her thighs, head resting against her chest. The bleeding has stopped though, the bullet wound plugged well enough that him exsanguinating is the least of her worries—it’s the ever-dropping temperature and the broken-down cabin that scares her.

It was thirty degrees Fahrenheit when the mission started; the last reading was ten and dropping. The cabin they’d taken shelter in was worn down, broken windows and missing ceiling allowing streams of frigid winter air and snow to fall in and continue to chill their bones. Simon had sealed his wound and managed to stay awake but with the blood loss he’d suffered and the stress, fatigue had set in, and that’s when she’d found herself curled up in the corner with the emergency blanket from her kit wrapped around his torso, his body wedged up against hers, trying to conserve energy and heat.

The comms had gone down, Simon’s radio busted in a skirmish of hand to hand with an enemy, and she had only managed to get one SOS out before the line cut off. They were alone in the middle of enemy territory, in a temperature-dropping environment, wounded and unable to call for help. Her worst fears were coming alive.

She swallowed thickly, shaking the thoughts away, and readjusted her grip on Simon, jostling him awake in the process. “Alrigh’, love?” he murmured lowly, tongue lazy and slow; he only called her love when they were alone and serious.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “You?”

“Back’s killin’ me.”

She huffed a laugh. “I bet it is. You’re folded like a pretzel.”

Simon shifted, or tried to, and rested his head on her shoulder. “How long’s it been since I feel asleep?”

“Maybe an hour?” she blinked, looking around the room; snow was beginning to pile up where the holes in the ceiling dropped to the floor. “I haven’t really been paying attention to the time.”

“Hmm.” He breathed into her neck. “I can’t feel my toes.”

Her eyes shifted to his feet, and she let out a breath, a mixture of shock and fear. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” he admitted. “‘s bad, love. Spreading up.”

“Motherfucker,” she laughed in disbelief and wrapped her arms tighter around him. “Price heard the SOS. He’s coming, okay? Just…just keep it together until then.”

Simon swallowed thickly; his eyes still shut as he nudged her neck with his mask-covered nose. “Got a safety deposit box back in Manchester,” he muttered. “Key’s in my nightstand back at base.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Got ‘bout five-hundred thousand pounds in’it.” He shifted again as if trying to get into her skin to be warmer. “Deed to a property in Herefordshire. Got it a few years ago when I was staying with Price.”

“Simon, stop,” she warned—she knew exactly what he was doing.

“Want you to get out and go live there. You’ve served long enough to get pension. You’ll be set for the rest of your life out there.”

“No. Not without you I won’t.”

He shook his head. “I don’ think I’m comin’ back, love. Not this time.”

“Don’t say that,” she stressed, turning her face to his. “They’re coming. We’ll be okay.”

Simon didn’t bother to open his eyes. “Want you to buy one of those big black Corso’s. Name her Morrigan. Let her take care of you and the land.”

Tears began to gather in her eyes. “You’re a bastard,” she whispered. “Quit it.”

“I want you to listen. I want you to be taken care of. I want—”

“I want you alive,” she cut off. “Now shut up and save some energy.”

Simon cracked an eye open and simply gazed at her. “I love you. I know I didn’ say it enough. ‘m sorry, love.”

She clenched her jaw against the wave eating her chest inside out and inhaled deeply. “Simon, stop and rest. I won’t say it again.”

He let his eyes close and laid his head back down. “Alright, love.”

***

It was at least another two hours before noise echoed outside, and it drew her from a slumber she hadn’t realized she was in; she jolted up, Simon jostling with her. “Simon,” she whispered. “Someone’s outside.” He didn’t respond to her, and she pulled away, looking at him. “Simon?” he was asleep, unresponsive to any of the stimuli around him. “Fuck, Simon?” the noise outside grew louder, and she pushed past her fear and shifted from under him, tucking him against the wall as she grabbed her gun and rose to her feet.

Kneeling down, she put a hand against his face. “I’ll be back, okay? I promise.” She swallowed. “I’m coming right back, Simon.”

She rose again and headed for the door, cracking it open and slipping outside as a vehicle pulled up; tucking behind the railing, she breathed deeply and lifted her head, catching sight of a few men exiting.

Before she could even raise her weapon, she heard, “Contact!”

Ducking again, she cocked her rifle and listened as the others did the same, obviously hiding behind shelter themselves. It had to be the rest of that enemy squad that she failed to take out when Simon got injured. Fuck, she only had one mag left and she was running on fumes herself. She had to be quick. She had to be careful. She had—

“Identify yourself, or we will shoot!”

Wait, that sounded like—

“I will not say it again! Identify yourself or—”

“Price!” she called and peeked over the railing. “Price, it’s me! It’s me!”

Soap and Gaz appeared on the other side of the SUV. “Athena?”

She felt tears gather in her eyes as she stood up and lowered her gun. “Holy shit, I’ve never been so glad to see you guys.”

Price stopped in front of her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Good to see you. Where’s Simon?”

Simon.

Her heart dropped. “Fuck.” She turned on her heel and sprinted back into the cabin and to the corner, the men on her heels; she got to him first and dropped to her knees, shaking him. “Simon! Simon, wake up!”

He didn’t move.

“Simon!” she called again, lifting her cold fingers to his neck. Whether it was her own anxiety or him, she couldn’t feel a thing and she started panicking. “I can’t get a pulse!” she turned to them. “I can’t wake him up!”

Soap pulled her back as Price and Gaz got to work and she thrashed in his arms. “LET GO!”

“Lass, calm down!”

“LET GO! SIMON!” she screamed, her own vision beginning to haze, exhaustion weighing taking its toll.

“We’ve gotta start compressions,” she heard Gaz say and he looked at Price. “He’s not going to make it back if we don’t do something now.”

Price looked back. “Soap, get her in the SUV, we’ll prep Simon for transport.”

“Aye, sir,” Soap said and hefted her up against her thrashing.

“NO! I’M NOT LEAVING HIM BEHIND! LET GO OF ME GODDAMNIT!”

“Lass, you can’t help him even if you wanted to.”

Her body felt like lead and she felt her limbs going numb as her breathing kicked into a wildness, head light and heavy all at the same time. She kept trying to get out of his arms when Price tossed a syringe his way, and a prick to her arm drew blackness into all sides of her gaze, the last thing she saw was Gaz yanking open Simon’s gear to press his hands to his chest.

***

There was an impossibly annoying beeping going off on the side of Simon’s bed and she had half a mind to kick him in his hip and gripe at him to turn it off; she managed to mumble something akin to it but when the beeping didn’t stop, she managed with great effort to crack her eyes open, only to be met with the sterile walls of a medical room.

It all came back in an instant and she sat up straight, yanking the IV out of arm, the oxygen tube from her nose, rolling from the bed. Her knees kissed the floor and pain seared up her legs as she scrambled for the door, only to fall again, but she crawled on her hands and knees to the handle. Lifting herself, she pulled the door open and leaned heavily on the wall of the hallway as she stumbled down, looking in every room for her lover.

“Simon!” she called weakly; the mission had taken its toll on her. She was weak, far beyond her own capacity and she was barely standing as it was. “Simon!” she yelled again, and Soap stuck his head out from a door about five doors down.

“Athena? Holy shite, you shouldn’t be up!” he made it to her, trying to help her, but she pushed past him.

“Where’s Simon?”

“Love, you need to go back to—”

“WHERE IS HE!”

Soap recoiled and recovered, gently wrapping his arm around her. “He’s down here. Still asleep.” His grip was steel. “I’ll take you to him.”

“I can—”

“You either let me help or I take you back to your room.”

She fell silent and let him, that was until she turned the corner of Simon’s room, and darted from his arms, barely managing to avoid face-planting into the hospital bed railing as she clambered onto the bed with the man.

“Simon?” she whispered, grabbing his face in her hands; he was so warm now. Tears seeped down her cheeks. “Simon, sweetheart?” she said again, pressing her head to his chest to feel his steady heartbeat thumping beneath; a choked sound of happiness escaped her, and she looked at Soap. “He’s alive.”

He smiled at her. “Yeah, love, he’s alive.”

“He’s okay?”

“Eh, we’re a little worried about his toes, but so far yeah.”

She buried her face in Simon’s chest, crying into the gown he wore, and grabbed one of his hands; she squeezed it tightly, relief flooding her as his fingers tightened around hers in his sleep.

[albertasunrise]

Oops Baby - Broken Heart

Masterlist

Summary: Being best friends with Frankie meant movie nights, drinks with the guys and a shoulder to cry on when you got your hear broken. He is head over heels for you but you don’t feel the same… yet a drunken mistake will tie your lives together forever!

Relationships: Frankie Morales x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3 I choose to give none. Read at own risk. 18+ (I apologise in advance for this trip you're about to take 😬)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Frankie needs a transplant.

Those words had been circling in your head from the moment the doctor had uttered them. He was in severe heart failure and only a new heart was going to save him. They could control it with medication. But there was only so much time he could live like that before his time was up. So now he was on a waiting list.

A long waiting list.

You were sitting at his bedside as he slept. The machines whirring around him letting everyone know that he was still here. Still breathing. It had been a few days since he'd collapsed. He'd spent 48 hours in an induced coma before they'd finally brought him around again and after another long, gruelling day, he'd opened his eyes and smiled at you.

Mary had been there whenever she could. Fussing over him in every way she could. Marking her territory and making sure you knew that Frankie was hers and that when this was over, it wouldn't be you he’d be with.

The Miller brothers had also been by most days to see him but Benny was the one that struggled to keep himself together whenever he was around his friend.

You were a little shocked that they discharged Frank after two weeks in the hospital. He had, more or less, died two weeks prior. So for him to be discharged with a new mix of meds and instructions not to do anything too strenuous seemed to be a little crazy to you.

You had agreed all those months ago that he would move in with you for a while when the baby was born so now seemed as good a time as any. He was weak in his first few days out but as the days went by, he got a little stronger each and every day. You had to learn how to accept the fact that Mary was now a constant in your life. It was clear that she wasn't happy that Frank was not staying with you and not her. You couldn't even start to understand how she must feel having to share the man she cared for with a woman who was about to have said man's baby. It was a mess.

She never outwardly made you feel like you were a burden to her and Frank but you knew you were. You were getting in their way and you were more and more conscious of that the more time you spent with them. She never stayed the night but she certainly made sure she spent as much time as she could with him. Fussing over him when he was having a hard day and cooking dinner for him almost every night. You hated how she had so consciously inserted herself into your situation without any thought for how it might be affecting you.

And Frankie said nothing.

He just wanted to keep the peace. To weak and tired to argue with Mary but the truth was he was getting fed up with her mollycoddling. He wanted to spend some time with you. He wanted to just enjoy these last few weeks with you until your daughter made her entrance. But as the days merged into weeks, she didn't back off. Then before either of you knew what hit you… You were staring down the barrel of your due date.

3 days to go.

Mary was puttering around in your kitchen as she prepared lunch. Another meal she'd found that was supposed to help keep Frankie healthy. Well as healthy as he could be despite needing a new heart. You were sat on the couch, rubbing your swollen belly as you watched her move from beneath your sundress.

"So I was thinking that we could maybe go out this weekend." She piped up as she started to dish the food up onto two plates "Get out out and about."

"It's Titch's due date this weekend Mary." Frankie groaned "We can't be going anywhere for a while."

"No… Right… Of course." She muttered as she picked up the plates and placed one on the table in front of Frank before placing the other down and sitting "Just thought it would be nice to spend some time together before the baby comes and steals you away from me." She chuckled as she dug into her food.

"All we do is spend time together." He muttered, eyes his plate of food before his eyes drifted to the counter "Didn't you make some for Titch?"

"She's so picky with her food." Mary shrugged "I just assumed that she'd make herself something."

"She's 9 months pregnant Mary!" Frank scolded.

"It's fine Frank." You piped up as you waddled into the kitchen "I have leftover pasta I can eat." You said as you opened the fridge and grabbed the plate of leftover Mac and cheese from the other night.

"Let me sort that for you." He said upon noticing that you were struggling to stay on your feet.

"I'm okay Frank." You assured him as you held onto the counter to aid your walk to the microwave.

"No, you're not…" Fish trailed off as he got up and swooped to your aid "Go sit… I'll sort this for you."

"Your food's getting cold Frankie." Mary piped up and Frank felt his blood boil.

"It'll be fine." He snapped at her before helping you over to a seat at the table.

"You shouldn't be overexerting yourself." Mary stated as she watched Fish practically carry you to the table "Remember what the doctor said-"

"I know what the doctor said and helping the mother of my child sit is not over-exerting myself." He growled, "Now shut up and eat your food."

Both you and Mary were a little taken aback by his sudden change of tone. Her green eyes started to fill with tears as she nodded at him a returned her attention to the food on her plate. Frankie felt a twinge of guilt at snapping at her but he was tired. After sorting your food and eating his own, he helped you up to your bedroom so you could take a nap. The last few days of this pregnancy zapping you of all your energy.

And that left him alone with Mary.

"I'm sorry for snapping." He said as he walked into the kitchen to see her finishing off the dishes "You just need to understand that Titch and I are having a baby and she needs my help right now."

"I get that Frank." She sighed as she gripped the counter and let her head fall forward "But you need to understand how much it hurts to know that I won't get to be the person to experience all this for the first time with you."

"What do you?…"

"I mean that I love you, Francisco!" She groaned as she finally turned to face him "And it's killing me that I won't get to be the woman to give you your first child. That it won't be me you get to experience all those firsts with… It'll be here."

"Mary-"

"And she doesn't even deserve it!" She shrieked "She broke your heart, Frank. Took it and stomped on it and yet she gets to have this with you."

"She made a mistake." Fish sighed "We were drunk and she was feeling shitty and the more I think about it… the more I realise that I took just as much advantage of her as she did of me!"

"Frankie-"

"I need you to back off a bit." He piped up, wincing at the heartbroken expression that then filled her features but it had to be said "We are literally just about to become parents and I need to focus on her for a while."

"What about you?" She asked and his brows furrowed "Who's going to take care of you?"

"I'll be okay." He tried to reassure her but she scoffed.

"You need a new heart, Frank!" She growled "You are so far from okay."

"I know that." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut "I appreciate everything you do for me but baby I need to prioritise her and my baby right now. You told me you would be okay with this when we first talked about this!"

"I did!… And I do it's just… I just love you okay."

"I know." Frankie said softly as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close "We will get through this I promise." He whispered against her brow as he pressed a kiss there "But I need you to just give us some space okay?"

She nodded, knocking a few tears free.

"Okay." She said letting out a stuttered breath.

"This isn't us breaking up okay?" He assured her "This is just me focusing on my baby okay."

"Okay."

…

You were slow getting down the stairs. Having to stop halfway to the kitchen to take a breather. When you finally made it, you found Frankie standing at the stove stirring the most mouthwatering-smelling sauce.

"What'cha cooking?" You asked as you waddled to his side.

"Homemade Turkey meatballs with a tomato sauce." He replied as he looked over his shoulder to smile at you "Thought seeing as all you're craving these days is pasta… You wouldn't mind more of it."

"Mmmm, daddy's too good to mummy." You cooed as you lowered your face a little to talk to your bump.

Frank's heart skipped a beat at your statement, his eyes widening a little as he watched you rub your belly.

"Where's Mary?" You asked, snapping him out of whatever reverie he was in.

"She uh… Well, we had a chat earlier and she's agreed to give us some time. She was getting a little-"

"Much?" You interjected and he chuckled.

"Yeah." He replied before returning his attention to the sauce "She meant well."

"I know." You replied as you gave his arm a friendly squeeze before waddling over to the kitchen table "Just wish we'd had a little more time to enjoy these last few weeks together."

"Enjoy them how?" Fish chuckled as he glanced at you.

"I dunno… Start sorting the baby's room. Organising the drawers and choosing a name. That sort of thing."

It suddenly dawned on Frankie that you and he hadn't had a chance to sit and discuss potential names for the little girl who was due any day. He was hit with an immense wave of guilt at the realisation that he had been neglecting you and his baby. Sure he'd been sick but he had been neglecting you long before his heart attack. He needed to do better by you.

"Why don't we do that tonight?" He stated, grabbing your attention.

"Do what?"

"All that stuff you mentioned. We can get the clothes done then sit and read through that book of baby names my mum sent."

"Oh.. the 'Spanish Baby Names' Booked she mailed you literally a month after we told her?" You chuckled and he grinned.

"Yeah… That one!" He grinned at you and you smiled warmly at him.

"Sounds like a plan."

So that's exactly what you did.

You ate the wonderful dinner Frank had prepared for you. Sorted the baby's outfits into the chest of drawers he and Ben had assembled for you just before his incident and then sat down on the couch, giggling at some of the names you came across.

"What about Leticia?" Frank asked and you snorted "What's wrong with that one?"

"It sounds like Lettuce!" You chuckled "We can call her Leticia Salad Morales."

Frank's heart practically stopped at the mention of his daughter taking his last name. That also wasn't something either of you had discussed. He had hoped you'd give his daughter his name but he hasn't wanted to push the subject.

"Okay well… have you seen any you like?"

"Hmmm… Let's see." You said as you flicked back a few pages "What about Mercedes?"

"Pass!"

"Why?"

"Because I went to school with a girl called Mercedes and she is now an escort!" He stated plainly and your jaw dropped.

"Okay… No to Mercedes." You replied before looking back a few more "What about Esmeralda?" You asked and Frankie's eyes widened "Esme for short."

"I uh… I…" He was lost for words.

Something you mistook for embarrassment.

"Nevermind we can-"

"It's perfect!" He interrupted, stopping you in your tracks "I love it."

"You do?" You grinned at him and he nodded, smiling wildly.

"Yeah." He confirmed as he placed his hand on your bump and leaned in close "How about you Emse? You like the name?" He chuckled as he felt the baby shift under his palm "I think she likes it." He said as he looked up at you, freezing in place when your gazes locked.

The air seemed to crackle as the two of you looked at each other with such intensity that the air seemed to be sucked from the room. Neither one of you could be entirely sure who made the first move, but the next thing you knew the two of you were kissing each other breathless as Frank pulled you to straddle his lap. You groaned at how your huge bump seemed to get in the way of your core seeking the relief it needed and upon noticing this, Frankie's deft fingers slipped into your shorts and started to circle your aching clit.

The moan that slipped from your lips was bordering on pornographic. His fingers pushing into your core had you screaming his name as your hips rocked in an attempt to gain more friction.

"Fuck Frankie." You whined as you felt yourself hurtling towards your release.

"Cum for me Hermosa." He purred "Let Papi make mummy feel good."

That statement was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge. You came with a cry, panting against Frankie's lips as you smiled sweetly at him.

"That was… Wow…" You panted and Frank smiled sweetly at you.

"Glad I could help." He chuckled "Do you wanna?…"

He left the question open but you knew what he meant. You nodded before letting him help you to your feet. Smiling as he kissed you deeply before pulling you in the direction of the bedrooms.

"Oh!…" You gasped, stopping in your tracks as you looked down to see the small puddle that had formed at your feet.

"What?" Frankie asked as he looked back at you, his eyes then following yours and widening at what he saw "Did you?… Did your?…"

"I think my waters broke." You gasped, looking up at him with eyes the size of saucers "I think our baby's coming." You grinned at him and he chuckled as he cupped your cheek and pulled you in for a kiss so sweet you could practically taste it.

"Great timing baby girl." He chuckled as he looked down at your bump before returning his gaze to you "You ready?"

"Definitely."

…

Frank wiped your brow as you collapsed on the bed, panting as you readied yourself to push again. Tears stained your cheeks as you looked up and Frankie, your whole body shaking with the effort of pushing your child into the world.

"You're doing so well sweetheart." He said sweetly as he looked down at you and kissed your brow.

"Right one more big push for me." Stated the doctor, pointing at you when it was time and cheering you on as you pushed like your life depended on it "She's here!" The doctor announced and then the room was filled with the wailing cries of your newborn daughter.

"She's here sweetheart." Frankie sobbed "She's here and she's perfect."

"Mmmm." You replied, unable to string a sentence together and unable to keep your eyes open.

"Titch?" Frankie said as he shook your shoulder and then suddenly alarms started to blare "What's happening?" He asked panicked as he was pulled back.

"She's haemorrhaging." Stated the doctor "We need to get her into surgery!"

Frank was dragged from the room as it erupted into chaos.

…

Ben's knee bounced nervously as he sat there with his brother waiting on news of the new member of the group. He couldn't believe that there was going to be a baby. That he was going to be Uncle Benny!

"You think she's here yet?" He asked his brother as he looked nervously at the clock.

"I'm sure we'll hear news soon."

They both sat up straighter when they saw Frankie step into view. Both Millers stood in unison as they studied their friend and noted that he wasn't smiling.

"Is she?…"

"Esmerelda's here." He said, a small smile gracing his lips "She's perfect!"

"What's wrong?" Will asked and Frankie sobbed, throwing his head into his hands as he allowed his emotions to flow freely.

"Is Titch okay?" Ben asked, his blue eyes filling with tears.

"She's in surgery." Frankie managed to force out.

"Is she going to be okay?" Ben all but whispered, his knees going weak when Frankie looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks.

"I don't know." Fish replied as he shook his head.

Ben didn't stop the tears then. He had come to consider you his best friend. The sister his parents never graced him with and now he was facing the possibility that he would never see you again. That idea that he might never get to see your smile or hear your laugh again, killed him.

"I don't know." Frankie repeated as his hand went to his chest.

"Frank?… You okay?" Will asked, managing to grab the man in time before he hit the ground.

Then everything went dark.

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

hi! do you know of any fics where Allison was bitten instead of Scott in season 1?

Hi anon! @kevaaronday made this list and said "Only found a few exactly like you wanted so heres some werewolf!allison too!"

Take My Hand (We’ll Make It, I Swear) by narceus (1/1 | 23,065 | Teen | Allydia) Laura's back in Beacon Hills, and she's got her newest pair of betas--good girls, both of them, and if she bit Allison mostly out of revenge in the first place, well, they're pack now. The three of them are family, and Derek too, when he eventually gets out here, after Laura deals with the mysterious spirals appearing around their territory. At least, that's the plan.

Plans have a way of going awry, but packs--those have a way of coming together, in the end.

Different Perspectives by George_Costanza_ate_my_soup90 (3/3 | 17,147 | Teen | Scallison) What if Allison had been the one bitten instead of Scott?

Fight the Night by Tarvera (8/8 | 12,911 | Mature | Scallison) One night, one hour, one minute, can change everything. Peter is just a little more feral the night at the school and a little more desperate for pack. He takes a chance and four more teenager's lives are forever altered by his actions.

Ten Years by Waynesgrayson (1/1 | 11,367 | Explicit) The wolf hung from the ceiling, his body draining onto her skin, his teeth in a pile next to her.

A small voice sounded from the loud noise of her mind, “Allison?” the voice was shaky, and didn't match the always steady girl, “Allison, are you okay?”

Allison breathed in deeply and licked her lips, swallowing the wolfs blood. She opened her eyes and could feel them fill red. 

"I'm the alpha now."

Triumvirate Pilgrimage by fandomdough (1/1 | 8,964 | Teen | Allison/Scott/Derek)

Beacon Hills wasn't supposed to be any different from anywhere else, but it was where Allison Argent lost everything she once knew and ended up finding herself and her soulmates.

Pawn by Thatoneloser_kid (1/1 | 5,850 | Gen | Allydia) Lydia told herself that she went to all the lacrosse games and practices for Jackson, he was the person she was dating after all. She told herself that it had absolutely nothing to do with the pretty right winger who looked at her all doe eyed and dazed. 

Her name was Allison Argent and she had moved to Beacon Hills a little over three months ago and, at first, she had kept to herself. She was shy, she would walk down the hallway with her books clutched tightly to her chest and her head down, scurrying away from any crowded place, making it difficult for Lydia to strike up any kind of conversation with her. 

The Banshee and the She-Wolf by MorganRay (1/1 | 4,516 | Teen | Allydia) Allison moves to Beacon Hills with her family to hunt werewolves, but when a hunt goes wrong, she receives the bite. Now, Allison will do anything to hide her new werewolf lifestyle from her family. When two of Allison's friends, Stiles and Lydia, discover her secret, Allison's life gets difficult. However, Lydia has a secret of her own that she's not too keen on Allison discovering. Cora Hale, local bad-girl werewolf of the Hale pack, takes an interest in the new wolf, but can Allison trust her? When Allison discovers her family's dark past, can she even trust them? And what's worse, Allison is developing a dangerous set of crushes that are doubly difficult to deal with as a new werewolf.

Then she fell in with Scott and Stiles.

And the Walls Come Crumbling Down by kiranightshade (1/1 | 3,960 | Explicit | Stallison) Alternate season one ending where Peter remains the alpha after killing Kate, Stiles says yes to the bite, and Allison is recruited once everything calms down. 

Also, Stiles falls for Allison while everyone tries to tell Scott that stalking Allison is not good.

My Girlfriend is a Werewolf by fandomdough (1/1 | 2,260 | Teen | Scallison) This is a day he won't forget. This is the day Scott finds out that Allison is a werewolf.

Changeable by clotpolesonly (1/1 | 1,476 | Gen | Allison/Laura) "The shape we take reflects the person that we are."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

--

In which Allison is bitten and Laura helps her through it.

A wolf, wolf and I by puppybusby (1/1 | 1,066 | Gen | Allydia) “It's just a study date Stiles.” Allison sighed.

“It's never just a study date.” Stiles replied with a dramatic roll of his eyes. “Have you learnt nothing? Study date is code for making out.”

Body Language by hazelNuts (1/1 | 845 | Teen | Allydia) Being a newly bitten werewolf, Allison is still figuring out how to interpret all the input she getting from other people. She knows, though, that when in doubt, it's best to ask.

‘Hey, Lydia,’ Allison says with a smile. 

‘Hey.’ Lydia’s greeting sounds muffled. Not strange since she’s half crawled into her locker. 

Allison doesn’t need to see Lydia’s smile to know the girl is happy to see her, she can hear it in the quick double-thump in Lydia’s heartbeat.

For Teen Wolf Femslash Bingo prompt: Canon Divergent AU

[pentaghastx]

A Golden Sight in The Darkest Place

For @steggyfanevents Steggy week 2023, Day 2 WIPs & updates One shot written by @thesongofthegreens Photo edited by me @pentaghastx Brief summary: During WWII, Steve wanders off to have a moment alone, however, on top of hill outside the trenches, he finds a beautiful sight that makes him forget about everything around him... just for a moment. Note: This piece was a WIP for a while but we managed to finish it for Steggy week! I always wanted to do a collaborative piece with Artemis where I edited a photo based off their writing, I am so glad I was able to pump this out with them! The photo is mixed in with the writing so keep reading for a surprise that I am very proud of! Read it on Ao3 here!

Thank you for reading! ——— ✴︎ ——— It had been early April, in France. Behind them, there were the remains of all the trenches from the Great War; some trenches still remained, shrapnel and all. At times, the men wandered into them and found trinkets to send home - Steve didn’t blame them. They were sitting ducks for the moment, waiting for orders that were days late.

In those few days, he had wondered if the supposed messenger was dead somewhere, orders tucked safely away, but no closer to his troop than before. He then let himself wonder if he would have to push the company forward, without orders. He would rather push than wait and lose their chance. The mission that was before them could only wait so long, with Schmidt on the move and attempting to make a new base anywhere that could be found, and Hitler's troops scattered in nearly every crevice to be found.

When the sun began to slip under the hill, he had made up his mind: if the messenger did not come by tomorrow night, he would send the men forward into the unknown territory and fight with all the might that they had left.

Rather than stare at the night sky and stay in open territory, he decided to have the men settle into the bunkers, shielding them from weather that might come, or the enemies that might wander. He split his men into three groups, sending each to a different bunker with a radio and a code word to send to those who were on watch.

The first code word was taste, the second being teach, and the final word was tenor. Of course, these were already code words that their troop knew, as well as other American troops, but the enemy would be in the dark, if their line had been intercepted, so long as it was used in a proper sentence.

If the word was wrong, or there was no check in amongst the bunkers every few hours, a secondary call would be made, and then arms would be taken up. He hoped it would not come to that.

After searching the trenches and assessing that there were no threats waiting, the groups dispersed for the night and to hopefully catch a few hours.

The bunkers were empty, but the bunks for soldiers were still there; some had thin mattresses that were covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, even long dried blood from their former owners. Many had only large springs that would dig into someone all night, but keep them high above mold and rats. For most of his men, as long as their pack was against their backs, they could sleep nearly anywhere.

Someone had saved a bunk for him, one of the few with a mattress in half decent condition, as he was the highest ranking among them and meant to lead them into possible battle. As grateful as he was for the gesture, it felt wrong to have been given the mattress when many around him hadn’t been blessed with such rank by powerful serums and mere coincidence.

He left the mattress out and let the men decide who would be next in line for it, settling against his own leather jacket as a pillow until he would take his watch.

He fell asleep to the first signal from bunker two.

05:00 HOURS

He had finished taking his watch a few hours ago, but sleep did not come so easily the second time. He would have to move the men today, without orders or a clear way in. The troops would understand, but he doubted they would be content with the fact that he had moved without a single word coming from the higher ups. They wouldn't mind later, when they, hopefully, celebrated a victory.

Sitting on the springs of his bunk, he could see the light pouring in from the opening of the bunker, inviting him to go out for fresh air, to think over his choices. He took the bait, stopping by the last man on watch and picking up the radio to haul along with him.

As he stepped out of the bunkers and into the trenches, he spared one thought to his father, to how he had died in a trench somewhere, his body left to rot and only a few bones to send home. Steve wondered if his father had even been afraid of death when it came, or if it had been a relief in the face of living more and more days in hell.

Shaking away the thought, he found a slope and climbed it, standing above the trench and taking in a deep breath. The crisp morning air filled his lungs, just as it did in New York, when the fall rain had just swept in. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine Brooklyn and the cars passing down the street. He let himself dream of it, just for a moment, when no one could see him.

Despite the fact that he was sure he hadn’t bathed in a few weeks and he hadn’t eaten more than a few spare crumbs over the last few days, he felt peace.

But he was not alone, nor the first in the sunlight.

Under a cherry blossom tree lingered a figure, with the same color of uniform as himself, though quite different from the men around him - being as she was a woman. But even in a room full of women, she would have stood out, her brown curls framing her face and gently swaying in the wind.

It had been weeks since he had seen her hair out of its usual styling; he assumed part of it was the inability to wash it regularly while they scouted France. And yet… he would have thought she had just stepped from a movie screen.

The cherry blossom petals fell in her hair as the wind continued to move over the land, almost as if to form a crown. She laughed, looking up at them and giving her head a shake before looking down to her journal. A compass was settled on top of the page, her perfectly manicured fingers holding it in place. She was a piece of Heaven on Earth, he was certain of it.

After some gawking that he knew his men would have laughed at, he checked behind him, checking in the trench lines for anyone who might have seen. When there was no one, he moved forward, as if he were already on the mission rather than a few feet away. It was only a few strides before he was right in front of her, wishing to say something poetic.

All that came out of his mouth was, "Am I ruining your sunlight?" You’re a damn fool, just like the rest of ‘em, he thought, before she looked up to him. A smile spread onto her red lips and he knew he was ruined. His heart might as well have been signed, sealed, and delivered to her doorstep… or at least to her bunk.

He shared her smile, sitting next to her, and setting the radio at his feet. Soon enough, the men would be waiting for the moment he would announce that they would be pursuing the mission. But the news would come soon enough. He began picking a few petals from her hair, rubbing them between his fingers. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna sprout a tree,” he teased, tossing them to her lap, suddenly wishing he’d saved a few petals for his own journal, to press between the pages and remember her, even if his memory was shot after all the years.

“Oh hush, Rogers. You’re interrupting my thoughts.” Her words were sharp, but her voice remained honey; he could have grown drunk on it, if his body would let him - perhaps he already was, with such thoughts swimming around in his mind.

Silence fell over them, but her pen had not started again, not yet. Her attention was on him, and he knew what she was waiting to hear. He picked at the grass, closing his eyes and wishing for one more day. Just another day and he wouldn’t be leading his men to a slaughter. Or it would come for them anyway and he would be a fool. “We have to move them or we’ll lose the Germans, or worse - Schmidt.” At this point, he wasn’t sure if he was facing Hydra or Hitler everywhere he went - both stood in the way of the freedom he was fighting to protect. “And all I can think about is leading them to a troop who may just kill us all.”

He sighed, opening his eyes to find brown eyes waiting for him, already softened and as warm as the sun behind them. “If anyone can lead us in, give them hell, and come out of it, it would be you, Steve. You’ve already accomplished it many times and I have no doubt you’ll do it a few dozen times more.” She paused, pursing her lips before leaning closer. “This is what I knew you were meant for, since the day I saw you jump on that grenade. I always knew you would do great things, with or without a vial of blue liquid.”

It might have been the wind, the stupidity he held within him, or the petals in her hair, but he leaned in as well, his hand cupping her cheek, and turning her head slightly. Their lips met, softly, before her hand curled into the collar of his uniform. At the same moment, his other hand pulled her closer to him by her waist. Though neither of them dared to say it, they both knew it may have been the last one they would share before they marched to their demise. It was that thought that sent him chasing after her mouth when she pulled away, a soft chuckle escaping her before she gave in.

She must have shared the thought too.

Right as his lungs were set to burst, their kiss broke, and both of his hands moved to rest against her cheeks, cradling her as if she were the last treasure he held in this world. A current sent white blossoms floating down to both of them, a small smile spreading on his lips. “If we survive this, Peggy Carter, I’m going to marry you.”

[lunarsun12]

The Club Part 2/2

Masterlist

Previous Part

It has been a week, since San found out Wooyoung secret from his ‘realiable’ source Mingi. In order to get revenge, Mingi suggested to San. He needs to man up and stand his ground with Wooyoung! San took Mingi advice to heart and did what he he was told.

Until Yeosang couldn’t handle it anymore, and texted the groupchat for help, to get woosan back together. As well to get wooyoung off his back as well Yunho to get his Mingi back.

Will Woosan Make Up?

Back at Ateez Kids Chat

Today 21:00

Yeosang🍗: SOMEONE FIX WOOSAN!

Yeosang🍗: Wooyoung, will not leave me alone! Until San forgives him! This is too much attention

Yunho🐶: This is the longest, they haven’t spoken. After 2 days ago San refusing to give milk to Wooyoung. That says a lot!

San🗻: WHY WOULD I HELP THIS RUDE PERSON!!

San🗻: WOOYOUNG, YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE CALLED ME WHINY AND LAME!!

Wooyoung🦊: Why believe Mingi over me?

San🗻: Mingi, always tells the truth!!

Mingi🦄: You see another person, said it!!

Jongho🐻: Is woosan still broken! This is so annoying but also I like it as San is giving me attention 

Wooyoung🦊: I never said anything about it! Mingi was making it up, to get back at me!!

San🗻: Blah blah, all I hear is lies! Now if you excuse me, I will hang out with my new bestie Mingi

Yeosang🍗: Wooyoung, get out of my room! Go and do your thing that make San weak for you…

The next day….

Woosan is still not talking, to each other which leads to an angry Yeosang stomping into the kitchen, whilst Yunho eating his breakfast.

Yeosang: WOOOOYOUNG! Why you have to scream so loud to wake me up!

Yunho: Tell me about it, San has been glued to Mingi! I can’t even hang out with mingi

On cue, San and Mingi came out. With San linking his arms as well Wooyoung coming out of the bathroom, heading to the living room.

Wooyoung: San? Why link arms with this liar!

San ignore wooyoung and continues to talk to Mingi.

Wooyoung taps San on the shoulder, which lead to San shrugging it off.

Yunho: Yo, San wooyoung talked to you

San: Who’s Wooyoung? I don’t know a Wooyoung? Mingi you know a wooyoung

Mingi: Errrr…

Yunho gently grabs Mingi from San, for the sake for Mingi to stop talking.

Yeosang gave an eye roll: Look whatever, the fight is about! I’m sure it is a misunderstanding! I actually feel bad for wooyoung

Wooyoung: Oh my god, you still believe it is true! What do I need to do for you to believe me??

There was a silence….

Wooyoung: *sighs* Yeosang pass the message onto San

Yeosang passed on the message to San, who literally shook his head. Refusing to give Wooyoung a chance.

Later on…in the afternoon

Back at Ateez Kids Chat

Today 15:00

Yeosang🍗: I can’t believe I am saying this! We have to help woosan! Wooyoung has kissed me five times day!!

Yunho🐶: Please, San has been territorial with Mingi! He won’t let me talk to him

Jongho🐻: What has happened, I just got back from school!

Yeosang🍗: Jongho! The mastermind! We need some help!

Jongho🐻: In what??

Yunho🐶: We need help fixing Woosan!!

Jongho🐻: Aren’t they in here as well, will they see?

Yunho🐶: Mingi, is distracting San by allowing him to play with his plush collection

Yeosang🍗: Wooyoung is dead asleep on my bed

Jongho🐻: Well, if it’s mingi who started it! Just make Mingi say he is joking and got butt hurt when Yunho didn’t invite him

Yunho🐶: About that…Mingi already blow it out of proportion there is no returning back…

Jongho🐻: Sigh, just ask whoever Wooyoung blabbed to. That it didn’t happen

Yunho🐶: Wait good idea! I got his number, I will text him to help fix the situation

Yeosang🍗: This better work! If not I am living with Beomgyu. That right I said it!!

A few hours later….

Yeosang🍗: YOU SAID IT WILL WORK! WHY IS SAN AND WOOYOUNG NOT MADE UP

Yunho🐶: I thought it will work!!

Mingi🦄: Guys, San isn’t really mad! He just wants Wooyoung to show he really cares. He is only doing it, so Wooyoung will be sappy with him

Jongho🐻: Wow, that is actually smart

Yeosang🍗: Arghhh, well tell San to make Wooyoung to his sappy stuff so I can live in peace

Yunho🐶: Wow, you actually telling the truth

Wooyoung🦊: YEAH RIGHT! IM NOT BELIEVING ANYTHING COMING OUT THAT MINGI MOUTH

Mingi🦄: Suit yourself

Wooyoung🦊: I GET THE OLDIE INVOLVE! YOU GUYS ARE NO HELP!!

10mins later….

Back at Ateez Chat

Seonghwa🌸: San? Please talk to your brother Wooyoung. He is really upset and saw some tears

San🗻: Wooyoungie…? Sad..? Ahem I don’t care about him

Jongho🐻: Please send the video! Need it for my collection!!

Seonghwa🌸: Talk to him, it is driving your brothers mad! Talk to Wooyoung and I let you stay at Appa studio again

San🗻: Fine

At midnight…

Wooyoung🦊: MINGI!! You are so dead!!

Yunho🐶: Woah! No killing my princess!!

Wooyoung🦊: Don’t act all innocent, I bet you knew all the long!!

Wooyoung🦊: San tell, what really happened!!

San🗻: Mingi, said I need to man up! He told me to act like Wooyoung is invisible, to prove he actually loves me. That why I have been hanging out Mingi

Mingi🦄: It’s fact! You gonna let wooyoung, walk all over you!!

Yunho🐶: Mingi? You should discuss these things with me!!

Mingi🦄: YOU TRAITOR! YOU LEFT WITHOUT ME!!

San🗻: Why do I get the feeling? Mingi is using me for his own benefit?

Yeosang🍗: Ohhhh yeahhh! No more wooyoung

Jongho🐻: This is juicy drama!!

Wooyoung🦊: Jongho? Why aren’t you asleep? Eomma will be so mad at you!!

Jongho🐻: You guys woke me up! From woosan talking

Mingi🦄: SAN, we are the victims here! They abandoned us to have fun! This has to be done!!

San🗻: I don’t care, if I don’t go! This Kookie person gives me the creeps! I much rather stay at home

Wooyoung🦊: Why is everyone having problem with Kookie. I see no problem with him!!

Yeosang🍗: You guys must have one thing in common!

Mingi🦄: I CARE!! Wooyoung should have agreed! I wouldn’t have to go this extreme!!

Hongjong🏴‍☠️: Looks Mingi, is the one really upset and not San

Yunho🐶: Mingi and Wooyoung, we need to sort this out!

Wooyoung🦊: Let’s do it tomorrow, it’s San and I cuddle session!!

Yeosang🍗: Thank god! They are back together!

Wooyoung🦊: Don’t worry Yeosangie! You will be in between our sandwich hug! You are practically one of us!

Yeosang🍗 left the chat

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

AHWM - A Voicemail to the Captain

You knew you would be busy. You knew you would be floored with responsibilities that seemed far greater than anything you could have expected. Yet, when caught in the middle of it all, you found yourself constantly surprised at the limits you needed to push yourself to. Being the most important person on the ship had a lot of responsibilities, and that was not including the mess with the crystal!

But, at last, you found a quiet moment where you could flee to your cabin to take a nap. Unfortunately, being too hasty meant you bumped against your desk while struggling to take off one boot, and something clattered to the floor. You spun around and realised it was your phone. Thankfully, it was unharmed despite the fall.

By right, you should have kept your phone off. There was no reason to waste the battery while in space. Instead, it became a virtual memory book. You would take time to look through photos of family and friends and remember what mattered most in your life. It would be a nice opportunity to do just that once your second boot was off. 

Instead of your usual lock screen greeting you, there was a notification:

“1 New Voicemail”.

It was dated from three hours ago. But how? There was no coverage. In fact, your phone still displayed the error that there was no coverage at the top of the screen. Yet, somehow, someone had gotten through.

You sat on your bed and called voicemail.

-

"Oh shit. I, uh, I didn't think I'd get through.”

You gasped. It was Yancy.

“I was so sure youse’s phone wouldn’t be reachable but I wanted to try anyway. Ain’t like I got anyone else to phone, right? Uh…Y’know what, fuck it. I’m leaving a long-ass voicemail for youse to get to when youse get the chance. It’s October 30th… Uh, 2022. We met this day a few years ago, and I’s been thinking. It’s weird not having youse around. Not in a bad way! I mean, I don’t want you giving up on this dream of youse’s just ‘cause I miss seeing a friendly face. It’s more like… Well, being in prison, you gets to be used to seeing certain people, y’know? Like, there’s the Gang, and then there’s the staff that rotate depending on they’s shifts. But I ain’t used to having people on the outside, so not being able to see someone is just… Kinda weird for me.

But I’s been good since youse last came to visit as part of space camp. The song’s coming along great. Youse is gonna love it, I think. Bam-Bam confidently called it a ‘bop’ when he heard it so I’m taking that as a good sign. A shame youse couldn’t stick ‘round a bit longer but I gets it. There’s a lot to do with all that space stuff, and I ain’t gonna pretend I understand it. Youse looked like you was under pressure anyway, like you had somewhere else youse needed to be. Heh, guess that comes with the territory of doing important space stuff, eh?”

You winced, You had hoped he would have forgotten that. You felt bad being pulled away before you could really do anything.

“I’ve been listening to the news a lot more on my little radio. Normally, I hate doing that sorta thing. I don’t care what folks get up to out there. But I wanna know when there’s news ‘bout the space trip. I know, I know, it’s slow. Can’t help it though. Wanna make sure youse is safe out there! Not like I can go kick an alien’s ass on youse’s behalf. And yeah, I know you can kick ass just fine youseself, but youse is also a very important somebody out there. Can’t risk you landing in extra trouble - youse probably has gotten in trouble by the time you hear this, heh.

It’s a shame there ain’t no way to write letters, or even emails. I’d try and figure out how they work if it can reach youse. I mean, I’m leaving a voicemail. That shit’s ‘sposed to be impossible, but - hey!”

You snickered as you heard shuffling and voices in the background. It was distant, but you were nearly sure you catch Yancy snapping “Fuck off! Call them yourself, you cheapass bum!” in the background. Going by the faint voices, you were of the belief it was Tiny and Sparkles McGee poking fun at him.

“Sorry. Certain assholes-” Yancy’s voice grew faint for that word, giving you the impression he had turned his head to insult them, “- had decided it’d be funny to try and hijack my call. Nuh uh. I don’t got another chance to do this call any time soon and I ain’t gonna waste it ‘cause someone wants to share their fart jokes. What was I saying before that… Oh yeah. Once you gets to the new planet, if it’s possible, think you could write a letter or something? Just so I knows you got there safe. I-I mean, not that I’m super worried or nothing, but, ah…” He fumbled over his words, and you are almost sure he really was worried. “It’s for parole, see. One of the parts of the application is to say what you intends to do, and I’ve been thinking ‘bout it and… I thought I’d go on the next shuttle, if there is one. I got nothing worth going out there for, but that don’t mean I can’t look to a whole new place, right?”

A familiar automated voice interrupted to announce there were only two minutes left in the call, and it seemed to snap Yancy to reality.

“Look, uh… Fuck. You best be keeping safe out there, ‘aight? Don’t be getting into fights where youse is unarmed and outnumbered. And, er… Keep being you. I’m proud of youse, and I hope they get to see that youse is such an amazing individual who can really bring about change just by being you. And, for what it’s worth? I… I miss-”

The line abruptly cut, signalling the end of the allocated time. Immediately, you choose to save the voicemail. It would be comforting having a little piece of home so far away. Then, after a moment of hesitation, you decided to play it again, if only to have that moment of normality in the midst of the chaos.

[coreychick]

Chapter 22: Kaleidoscope

Part of the In the Dark Series: 18+ Smut & Story /Romance and Adventure Din X Fem!Reader Insert

Just a reminder, I do not post warnings, so if you have triggers, this may not be a story for you.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter / All Chapters

With Keyorin behind you, you were anxious to head straight to Tython- the planet indicated on Halo’s map. Maker knows, you weren’t in a rush to separate from Din, but there was a surprising desire to get “it” over with- whatever “it” may be. Whether it was finding Jedi that could potentially help you or answer questions that were plaguing your brain, or finding that there were no answers to be had, and you would continue with Din on whatever path that might be. It was not knowing exactly what was waiting there, that was stressing you out. 

Din on the other hand, seemed to be in no rush whatsoever. He had plotted out a course that seemed to go farther out of the way than necessary. He said he had wanted to avoid the most direct route, the Axis, which served as a high frequency trade route on the edge of the slice. “Too many eyes and ears…the kind you don’t want following you.”

But avoiding the well-traveled hyper-route, meant having to make an unplanned stop for fuel and supplies. After that, he found an unfrequented planet to lay low on for a few days. Sarka was a lush basin, prominent with jungles and low mountains. The Sarkans were a sentient, reptilian species that maintained a unique relationship with the galaxy, by holding a monopoly on mining rare gems found on the planet. They were successful where other species had failed, because their society thrived, living in the vast underground caverns for long periods of time. Incidentally, that worked out great for you and Mando, because there was very little population on the surface. That and the fact that Sarka had a breathable atmosphere for humans, meant it was a good place to recoup for a few days. 

Mando said he also wanted you to get some more blaster practice in, before heading into unknown territory. Although you did spend several hours a day practicing, a tiny feeling prickled at your senses, wondering if he was having his doubts or changing his mind about Tython, and if this might be a delay tactic. Either way, you were grateful for a brief reprieve. The Maker seemed inclined to doll out small rations of mercy -brief tastes of peace and heaven- in between the life-threatening and emotionally devastating moments he preferred. After Keyorin, your emotions were a jumble. Everything you’ve done, every decision you’ve made over the past year has been with one goal in mind- finding Halo. Now that he was gone, you were going to have to figure out where your place was, in this vast galaxy.  

During practice sessions, Mando was all business. Despite a number of attempts on your part to distract him with subtle flirting that eventually bordered on blatant sexual suggestion, he insisted that you get in as much practice as possible, even turning you away, by the shoulders, forcing you to reface your target and fire. When the sun finally set at the end of the day, and the lack of light made it impossible to shoot any longer, he’d finally relented and let you retire for the night. 

When you weren’t practicing with a blaster, he was teaching you how to use a blade. 

“What happened to the knife I gave you before?” He asks, handing you a new blade. If there was one thing Mando wasn’t short on, it was an arsenal. 

Thinking back on it, goosebumps wake across your skin. You absently rub your forearm. 

“Uhh. I had a minor run in with the devaronian.”

Immediately, Mando’s body goes stiff, his shoulders roll back, and his spine straightens to somehow add another inch or two to his already imposing height. 

“What happened?” His modulated voice sounds a note deeper than it had a moment ago.

“We were in tight quarters, and he had me backed into a corner, so I did what I could…I plunged the knife into his back…only…I lost my grip on it…when he threw me across the room.” 

Mando goes very cold and very still. 

“Your brother let this happen?”

“No!” you fire back defensively.  “He wasn’t even there. I think we were being tracked. Anyway, the dev showed up and when I refused to go with him, it got…ugly.”

Mando closes the gap between you, his closed fists flex open and closed as his helmet tilts down to look at you. 

From this close angle, you can see his throat muscles work behind the cover of the flight suit as he swallows before speaking. 

“Did he touch you?”

You shake your head, no.  “Halo found us, pulled him off me before it got that far. Those two fought until Halo pretty much separated the dev’s head from his body and turned him into a bigass shishkabob…. But not before getting Halo with a poisoned horn tip.” you say, voice cracking a little at the last part. 

“I should have been there, should have been with you.” Mando says regretfully. 

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re the one that’s been telling me not to let the ‘woulda’, ‘coulda’, shouldas’, hold me down.”

Mando remains silent, so you shift gears to get off the subject. 

“Just, show me how to use this thing, so it doesn’t happen again.”  

Mando leans over and grabs you by the wrist with his gloved hand. He makes a small adjustment to the way your fingers are gripping the handle and then flips the knife around and let's go. He unsheathes the blade he carries on his calf and takes a few steps back.

“Your instinct is to hold the knife like this.” He says, easily flipping his knife around to demonstrate how you were holding it a moment ago. 

“You want to raise your arm and arc your hand downward in a stabbing motion, like this.” 

The way he demonstrates it, happens to be exactly how you stabbed Vandaal in the back- minus the fact that you were hanging upside down at the time. 

“But that’s really only effective if you are taller than your aggressor, and nine point nine times out of ten, your attacker is going to be taller than you.” 

“What? Why do you assume that?” You say, sounding playfully offended.

“Have you ever seen a Jawa physically attack someone larger than them?” He quips back.

You thought about it for a second, but Mando continued his explanation before you can come to a conclusion. 

“It’s a natural instinct. Nobody wants to get into a physical fight with someone larger than them. Jawas, Ewoks, Ugnaughts….generally speaking, are going to use long range weapons. They want to keep as much space between them and the enemy as possible.” 

“You're comparing me to them? I am taller than a Jawa, you know.” you smart back.

“Even so, from this angle, you lose power. You don’t have enough force to bring the knife down hard and if they are able to block your strike, it puts your arm in a vulnerable position. You’ll likely be disarmed before landing a blow.”

You sigh, relenting that he makes a good point. 

“I want you to use what you have to your advantage.”

Mando easily flips his knife around so that his thumb is now closer to the knife guard. 

“Instead of arcing your arm down, I want you to make short-succession jabs.” He demonstrates the movement so quickly, you begin to doubt whether you can do this or not. 

Hesitantly, you try to mimic the same motion, though you know you're not as quick as he is. 

“Good.” he nods. “That’s good.”

“Okay. So, what do I aim for?”

“Depends on your enemy. Given time, you can learn the most vulnerable spots on any given species. Try to assess what those spots might be at the outset and you’ll be prepared if things go sideways.” 

“Are you telling me that the first thing you do whenever you meet someone new, is figure out where to stab them?”

There are a few seconds of silence and then Mando says, “Yes.” 

“Uh, wow. OKaaaay. Even with me?”

“Yes.”

No wonder you have trouble making friends, Mando. 

“And where would you stab me?” you ask, humor coloring your words.

He steps forward, again closing the space between you. Your knife is still poised in front of you, your knife-arm, level with your ribcage in a stance meant to intimidate. Completely unfazed, he walks straight into the blade tip, his chest plate pushing your arm backward. He tilts your chin up with his left hand while running the blade tip of his own knife gently across your neck. It’s not enough to draw blood or leave a mark, it’s just enough pressure that you can feel the cold tip against your skin. “Here.” 

He drags the tip down the center of your chest, between your breasts until it comes to a stop over your lower abdomen. “Here.” Your throat works hard as you noticeably swallow. He walks around you, gently placing his arm over your shoulder and grips you around the neck, holding you in place. Maybe it’s sick. You have no idea why, but the thought of being so vulnerable in Mando’s grasp causes you to clench between your legs and your pulse quicken. Bringing his helmet close to your ear, he lowers his voice to a whisper as you feel the tip of his blade just over your kidney. “And here.”

You turn and face Mando, staring deep into the T of his visor. With your voice dropping all humor, you ask in a serious tone, “You wouldn’t stab me in the heart?” And yeah, the way you ask hints that you’re not just asking in the literal sense. 

He stares back for a few beats. 

“No, I wouldn’t stab you in the heart.” 

You sure about that? 

“Why not?” 

“For one, it would be a shame to mar these,” he says, gently pushing the flat of his blade against one breast. “ 

Your lip twitches as you work hard to fight the smile trying to surface. 

“But also,” he continues, taking a step backward again. “You want to try and avoid the rib cage. It’s hard to hit vital organs. You have to slide the blade between the ribs, and you risk getting hung up on bone, and losing your knife.” 

Okay, also eww. 

“Instead, aim for the soft parts. The jugular and neck, the belly, the lower back on either side and the groin.” 

“Fine, ok.” you say, listing off the parts back to him. 

“Go ahead and try again, show me.” he commands.

With the knife securely in hand, you make some sharp repetitive jabbing motions, near the aforementioned body parts, but a few inches in front of him. Thankfully, even if you were to slip, all of his vital areas seemed to be protected by beskar or thick padding. 

“Good, that’s really good. I want you to move in an upward motion though, enter the body diagonally.” 

“Gross. Ok. Are we done?” This really was not your idea of fun. 

“No. There’s one more place I want you to keep in mind.”

“Where’s that?”

“The lower forearms.” 

Mando makes a move with his right arm, grabbing you firmly as an enemy might. His large hand splays over the side of your neck and the crook of your shoulder. With his grip like this, he can pretty much force you into any position he wants- though if it were him, at this point, all he’d have to do is ask and you’d take any position he wanted you to. 

“If someone gets a hold of you like this, I want you to grab onto their forearm here.” 

Doing as he instructs, you place your left hand on top of his forearm. 

“With your knife hand, I want you to drive up from underneath, going as deep as you can. Use your left hand to pull down on his arm, that way you have as much leverage as possible getting the knife in. Don’t retract though….Instead I want you to use all of your strength to then pull the knife back toward you, through the flesh. You’ll likely slice through nerves and tendons. If you do that, he won’t be able to make a fist or hold onto you anymore. Understand?”

“Yes, I think so.” you nod. 

 “Good.” he says, releasing his grip. 

“These locations may vary from species to species, but everyone has a weakness if you look for it.” 

“Is that so?” you say, taking a step back to run your gaze over him from head to toe. 

He stands still, letting you do a full body exploration with your eyes, searching for the kink in his armor. Of course, not a single inch of skin is visible. His helmet, and beskar armor, would easily deflect any blade. He wears tall boots and gloves. Everything else is protected by a thick layer of padding provided by his flight suit. You wouldn’t be able to cut his throat, stab his gut, his back, or even his forearm- none of the places he described.  

“I can’t find it. Where’s your weakness?”

He waits a moment, and at first you wonder if he still might not trust you enough to share his vulnerable spot with you. 

But then he answers….”I’m looking at her.”

After three days of training from sunup to sundown, your muscles are wrecked. The blaster grows exponentially heavier with every passing hour, until your arms are shaking so hard, your accuracy is actually getting worse instead of better. Mando finally relents, ordering you to take a hot shower and turn in early. 

You’ll get no argument from me. 

“Yes, sir.” You say with a halfhearted mock salute, before retreating to the Crest. 

The hot water was bliss on your sore muscles. It had taken every ounce of reserve energy you had left in your body to wash your hair and soap down the rest of your body. Now you just stand, unmoving, letting the steady stream of the hottest water you can handle, pummel your aches away. 

Is it possible to fall asleep, standing in the shower? Because I just might.

So focused on the hot water, melting away your aches and your cares, you don’t hear the door open behind you. With eyes already closed, there’s nothing you need to do when you feel Din’s solid chest press up against your back. He runs his hands up and down your arms, pressing his thumbs into the knots in your muscles, brushing firm circles around them, until they relax. It hurts, but in a good way. Your head lolls back, resting against him, your arms going slack. You’re a cooked noodle- probably couldn’t lift the bar of soap again, if you needed to. 

“You’re a sadist. Everything hurts.” you grumble. 

“Everything?” 

“Yes, everything.”

“I can’t take the pain away, but I can distract you from it.” he says, sliding his palm around to dip between your legs. He’s hinting at what you’ve been begging for, for days.

You let out a breathy moan of pleasure at the feel of his thick fingers, sinking into your flesh.  

“Where’ve you been the past few days? Not sure I’d be much fun right now, I literally can’t move. Was thinking you might even have to roll me out of here.”

“What if I said you didn’t have to do a thing, except what you’re doing right now?”

“I don’t know….” your voice trails off, replaced by a soft whimper. Any semblance of coherent speech is lost when he starts sliding his thick fingers back out, using the arousal he’s gathered to paint slick circles around your clit. 

“You don’t have to do a damn thing, but keep standing here, making those noises for me.”

Your breathing begins to space out, the delicious friction he’s giving makes your whole body feel drunk, aches and pains demoted from pressing to afterthought. 

“I suppose I can manage just standing here….”

“Good girl.” he says, pulling his hand away. “Turn around for me.” He doesn’t bother telling you to close your eyes anymore. He simply trusts that you’ll do it.

His hand threads through your wet hair as he grips you behind the neck and pulls you in for a star- shattering kiss. Literally. His kiss so deep, his mouth so consuming, you swear you see a burst of stars behind your eyelids. You’re no longer breathing air, you’re breathing him. Every unspoken word between the both of you passes through his kiss. That’s it. It’s the kiss to end all kisses, and if you lived forever, you swear, nobody else in this galaxy could ever kiss you the way Din does. 

When he finally breaks the kiss, you're breathless and panting, unsure of what to do or say next. He makes the decision for you, when he drops down on his knees, pulling you forward by the hips. 

“Have to taste more of you…all of you.”

You let out another whimper as his mouth descends on you. 

“Good girl. Let me hear those pretty little noises you make.” 

You couldn’t be silent if you tried, not the way he was devouring your pussy like a starved man with a ripe peach. 

Your first orgasm hits hard and fast, with little to no pause before the second is already building toward summit. Din plunges his tongue as deep as it can go, holding you in place with his vise-like grip on your ass. Your legs begin to tremble, the fatigue from the day reminding you that it’s only forgotten- not gone. 

“I’m close, so close. Don’t stop Din…please.”

Spurred by hearing his name, Din increases his pressure and uses the tip of his nose to sweep over your sensitive clit. You come completely unhinged, coming hard on the man’s tongue. He groans deeply, drawing in every remnant of your orgasm. How the man was able to completely consume you without drowning in either the hot water sluicing down your body, or the sopping wetness between your legs, you’ll never know. 

At that thought, your legs shake harder, giving the muscles in your arms a run for their money. 

“Not sure…I can stand, much longer.” You say between ragged breaths as you slowly come back down. 

“Let go baby…I’ve got you.”

With no energy to argue, you trust his words. The second your legs stop fighting to hold you up, Din uses his already firm grip on your ass to lift you up. You throw your arms around his neck and cross your ankles over his ass, as he turns off the water and carries you to bed. 

You nuzzle into his neck, relishing the feel of his bare skin and the smell that is distinctly Din. His hard length it’s pressed tight between you, prodding your belly. Suddenly, you can think of nothing else, except how good it’s going to feel when his cock sinks into you, stretching you to the max, filling you until you can’t take any more. 

He answers back, with a low, gravelly voice. “I will never get enough of your taste.” 

His words heat you from the inside out, provoking a soft moan to escape.

He lays you down on the humble little pile of blankets you both have come to consider a bed and begins trailing hungry kisses down your neck and chest. He kneads your breasts, marveling at their softness as he burnishes his cheeks over them. The scruff of a week's worth of stubble tickles your skin, causing you to arch your back. He takes full advantage of the movement, salaciously sucking on each nipple. After giving each, it’s due attention, he trails his kisses lower, heading back down toward your waiting pussy. 

“Need more of it.” he says. 

The thought of him going down on you again makes you dizzy. Your body is already primed and wanting, ready to be filled. 

“No.” you say gently, threading your fingers through his hair. His mouth hovers just over your heat, practically quivering as his breaths make contact against the wet flesh.

It’s hard to explain, but you don’t want to come again. Your body is so exhausted, you fear one more of Din’s star-shattering orgasms, might deliver you right into peaceful oblivion. Would it be worth it? Hell yes, it would. But you have little energy left, and what you do have, you want to save for him. You don’t need to come again, but you need to feel him inside you, need to make him come too- long for it. 

“It’s your turn to come…. I’d say you’ve well earned it.”

“I’m not finished with you yet.” 

“I don’t think I can come again, and besides, I’ve already come twice, that’s enough.” 

“Not for me, it isn’t.”

After another bone melting orgasm, you are practically begging Din to take you with his cock. You expect for him to take you hard and fast- or maybe that’s what you were hoping for based on how desperate you sound. Either way, he hears your desperate pleading and decides to take his tormenting a step further. He hooks one of your legs over the crook of his arm, spreading you wide as he slides his thick cock in, at a glacier-like pace. 

You cry out in rapture when he finally bottoms out and just stays there, buried as deep as he can possibly go. The pressure, the full sensation, the weight of his body over yours, the feeling of literally being so deeply connected, is beautiful torture.  

“Din….I need you.”

“What do you need, baby? I’ll take care of you.”

I need to feel you move….. Need you to fill me with your cum. 

Again, you didn’t understand why you were having these thoughts. Your body has been well loved, three times over and yet, you know you won’t feel completely sated until he fills your core. This is completely new- something that you’ve always tried to avoid all together with previous lovers- Bonus points if they had been willing to pull out! So why now, did you want it so badly from him? To the point where it almost feels as vital as your next breath.  

Give me all of you. 

“Need you to move….need you to fuck me.”

“Good girl.” he says, nuzzling his nose along your chin. 

The pace he sets is agonizing in the most exquisite way. He slowly, yet intently slides in and out. You feel the slow burn, the stretch from his size, the impossible fullness, with every drawn out stroke. Time stands still in a way that makes you feel like you're dreaming. Unexpectedly and with absolutely no control, you start to cum again. He doesn’t increase his pace, doesn’t race you to the finish line. He maintains a slow torture so perfect, a hot tear slips down your cheek. It crashes over you in warm waves that stretch out, going on and on until you’re nothing more than a puddle. Your body is good for nothing else except this, and you may never be able to move again. 

Is it possible to die from orgasm? Because this has to be what heaven feels like. 

He never stops moving. He forces you to ride it out, weathering the moments of over sensitivity, walking a fine line between pain and bliss, until his mouth crashes into yours again. You breathe in your name, as it grates past his lips, and he finally gives you everything you need from him. 

You wake feeling more refreshed and rested than you can remember in recent history. You have no idea how long you slept, but you don’t remember waking even once, and that is a rare occurrence. The bed is soft and warm and if you wanted to, you could probably lay there for a few more hours. Regrettably though, Din is not in bed with you. The absence of his armor and the steady rumble of the Crest’s engines tell you that at some point, he had set out on the course for the final leg of the trip to Tython. 

You sit up with a satisfied purr, stretching your arms above your head and craning your back before heading to the fresher. Once dressed and all biological needs have been attended to, you head up to the cockpit. 

As expected, Din is back in full armor, stationed in the pilot’s seat. At the sound of the door opening, he swivels his chair around to face you. 

“Hey sleepy head, perfect timing. We’re just about an hour out from reaching Tython.”

“Tython? Really? Geeze, how long was I out?”

Day and night aren’t something easily measured when you’re traveling in outer space, but it had to have been awhile if you had slept through the last leg of the trip. Hell, you don’t even remember taking off, or falling asleep for that matter. 

“About eighteen hours, give or take.” 

“Eighteen!? Wow.”

PSA to anyone having trouble sleeping. Forget sleeping pills, teas and herbs. Just let Din Djarin slow-fuck you into a sex coma. Highly recommended for the best sleep of your life.

“Sorry…you should have woken me.” 

“You needed the rest.”

Your cheeks heat a little at the mention of needing rest, when you think about the many reasons why.

You stand next to Din’s chair, admiring the view of open space. In the distance, you can just make out a small greenish white orb. Tython?

“By the way,” you start- avoiding eye contact, “I uh, feel like I owe you an apology for last night.”

“I told you, it’s ok. You needed the rest.”

“No. Not about that. Well, I mean… yes about that too, but also because, well….I’m just not normally like that. I mean, I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t into it, or that I’m always so selfish because…I pretty much just laid there while you did everything, … like everything …And I guess I’m just trying to say, that I’m not normally a lousy lay…I mean, I’m not like the GOAT either….probably…but, I am good…and are you going to say anything? Because I feel like I’m just rambling here…I should just shut up…I just..”

Din startles you right out of your self-deprecating tirade, by grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his lap. He leans you back until his visor hovers over your face. His voice is low and steady with resolve. 

“You don’t have a single thing to apologize for.” Dear Maker, thank you for blessing this man with the sexiest bedroom voice I’ve ever heard.

You take a deep breath, imagining what his eyes might look like, because you know he’s staring straight into yours. 

Brown. I think they’re brown. Rich, like the soil on Sorgan, and dark, like the ocean on Keyorin.

“I just think the scales were tipped…in my favor this time…and that’s not….I mean…I want to take care of you too.”

He leans forward, gently resting the top of his helmet against your forehead.

“Woman, I don’t think you have the slightest clue what you do to me. The look on your face…the sweet sounds you make… Watching you feel pleasure and knowing that I’m the one that's giving it to you….seeing ner atin solus, come completely undone…. it’s its own end.``

Your stomach does a little flip flop, your heart skipping like stones. You swear to the maker that if he wasn’t masked up, you’d haul your lips to his and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. 

“When you look at me like that….” he groans, in that gravelly modulated tone,  “fuuuck, I can’t think straight.”

 He shifts your position in his lap to relieve some of the pressure from his now straining dick. You slide your hand down his chest, grasping the very prominent bulge at the front of his pants. 

“Maybe we can do something about that…balance the scales perhaps?” you say, emphasizing your point by cupping his balls. “I’m feeling very well rested now…thanks to you.”

He groans again and the satisfied rumble sends an electric jolt straight between your legs. You can feel yourself growing wetter by the second. 

“Mmmm. As much as I’d love that right now, I’m afraid we don't have the time. There’s one more thing I have to teach you, before we land on Tython.”

You’re disappointed to be sure. Nothing sounded better than returning the favor and showing Din the same attention he had lavished on you the night before, however, your curiosity peaks. 

“And what might that be?” 

“How to pilot this ship.”  

“There’s about three hundred switches here, but you’re going to teach me how to fly before we get to that planet over there?” you say, indicating the steadily growing planet in the distance.

Din lets out a small modulated huff, before turning you back around in his lap to face the console. 

“Not exactly. It’ll take a long time to learn what every button does, and even longer to understand the mechanics of why and how. Right now, I just want you to get a feel for handling the controls. After that, I’ll teach you the basic sequence for takeoff and landing.”

“Why now, of all times?” 

“Because…I’m not really sure what to expect down there. I don’t anticipate a fight…but, I am a sworn enemy, and I’ll be marching straight into their domain.” 

“You think they’ll be hostile?”

“I’m hoping we can just ring the buzzer, the shiny gates open, and you’re welcomed with open arms, but I have to plan for the worst.”

“The worst?”

“If for some reason, I am unable, I want you to be able to fly outta there on your own.” 

So that’s what all the last-minute training was for. As if I’d leave you there. 

“Shiny gates, huh?” you snicker.

“I don’t know what it will look like, but when I imagine a place where you belong, I imagine it has pretty gates.”

You laugh out loud.

“Really? Cause that’s not what I was picturing at all.”

“Yeah? How do you see it?”

“Well, a tall, sexy man with washboard abs, greets me in a miniscule loincloth that leaves little to the imagination.”

Din pinches your side, causing you to giggle and squirm in his lap.

“Try again.”

“Ok,“ you laugh. “How about… a quaint little village with dozens of younglings running around with pretend laser-swords, and there’s a wise old man with a long white beard. He takes me under his wing, and I steadily chip away at his grumpy exterior with my undeniable charm and wit, while learning the valuable life lessons of the Jedi? Oh! And there’s a sweet old lady who bakes the best spiced rolls in the galaxy, and she lives in a giant shoe?”

“Giant shoe? Why a giant shoe?

“I have no idea, but I swear, every fable they read to us in the orphanage had an old lady who lived in a shoe.” 

“What if it’s a grumpy old man, with a long white beard, in a loincloth, that leaves little to the imagination?” 

  You both start laughing, and Maker, you love seeing this rare side of Din. 

“Then you’re correct, I’m going to need to know how to beat feet outta there real quick, so I guess you better teach me how to fly.” 

After about thirty minutes, you have a decent handle on the steering controls and maneuverability. 

“That’s good. You’re a natural- you’ve got the basic control down.”

“That’s all well and good Mando, but what about takeoff and landing?”

Mando hits a bunch of random buttons and kills the engines. The Crest remains floating in the dead of space, ready for you to reignite life back into her rusty bones. 

“First, let’s focus on takeoff. The Crest can be primed and ready for flight in less than forty seconds. We don’t have time to go over the individual systems and what they do, but for now, all you need to know is the sequence of buttons to push. Once you’ve got that, you can hit this button here. I’ve already pre-calculated a nav plan, so you can hit that and be on your way.” 

“Where would it take me?” 

He takes a deep breath. “Trask, since that’s our best lead on finding other Mandalorians. Find them. Let them know you’re mine by showing them the necklace. They’ll help you.”

“Yours?” 

Mando clears his throat a little, while your stomach flutters, warmth heating your skin from the inside out. 

“I mean, one of my clan.”

Your heart warms at the thought of belonging to Din, being his in any way. 

“Ok, I think I’ve got it.”

“This is where you need to pay close attention. You need to memorize the ignition sequence.”

“Oh that! I already know it.” you state, matter-of-factly. 

A few beats pass. You smirk as Mando silently puts together how you could possibly know.

“Show me.”

You shift in his lap a little, and going from left to right, flip down five switches. Immediately, you can hear power coming online for both engines. Next, you lean to the right, first flipping the red light, then the green light above it. A quick glance out the window shows the engines are lit and adjusting. Next you reach overhead, switching on the two red lights at the right on the overhead panel. You push the lever with the silver ball doohickey on it forward, engaging the thrusters. 

“Now, it’s liftoff, right?” you say, placing your hand over the accelerator. 

“Right.”

You push the main toggle control forward and the Crest pitches forward. 

“See?...got it.”

“When did you get it?”

“Huh?”

“ When did you memorize the ignition sequence?”

“Uhh……Tatooine?”

“Tatooine?”

“Yeah, I was weighing all my options. Hijacking your ship was definitely on the table, so I memorized your patterns, just in case the opportunity presented itself.”

“Clever girl.” he says, sounding kinda proud.

After that, he goes over the finer points of landing, though there’s not much that can be taught without actually doing it, so he ends the crash course in Razor Crest aeronautics, before you reach Tython’s atmosphere. 

Before you descend upon the planet, Din regretfully vacates you from your preferred seat in his lap, and has you settlle into the passenger seat. He brings up the navigation screen and dials in on the exact coordinates left on Halo’s file. As you break through the clouds and the surface becomes visible, your heart begins to race. Tython is beautiful, covered in hills and grassy mountain sides. So far, there’s no indication of civilization, and the charts have it marked as uninhabited- which is curious, considering the breathable atmosphere and the temperate climate. 

Din looks back at you over his shoulder. You both exchange a look, but neither of you says anything. 

He continues to fly over endless hillsides, until finally you approach the targeted area on the map. 

“Looks like that’s where we are headed.” He does a sweeping flyover of the area, but all you can see is a mountain top with an odd rock formation at the peak. 

“What is that?”

“I’m not sure, but that’s where the coordinates lead.”

He hits a switch on his console and the computer gives off a beep before relaying some type of thermal readout. 

“There doesn’t seem to be any sentient life forms…just a few birds and local wildlife.”

You suddenly feel some relief. Maybe this was all a wild goose chase, and if that’s the case, you could live the rest of your life knowing that at least you tried. But if you’re being honest, you won’t be crying yourself to sleep tonight, because you’ll still be in Din’s arms. 

“Do we check it out?”

“We came all this way, might as well see if there’s anything helpful down there.”

Din lands the Crest about a quarter mile away, finding the nearest flat spot and the two of you hike up the mountainside toward the odd rock formation. When you reach the top, you see six towering slabs of rock forming a large circle. Each is supported by a smaller slab, allowing the larger rocks to lean toward the center of the ring. In the middle is a flat surface, dug several steps lower than the outer layer and in the very middle, is a half-dome rock that looks as if it was carved from a small boulder. 

“Well, I guess this is it.”

There are overgrown bushes and weeds that pop out of cracks in the rocks, indicating that in all likelihood, there hadn’t been any people here in a very long time. Other than the crickets peacefully chirping in the background and the dozens of blue butterflies fluttering about, you and Din seemed to be the only living things for miles around. 

“Does this look Jedi to you?”

You give him a look that says, really, you're asking me? 

“Well, I don’t see any laser-swords or loincloths…beyond that- I have no idea.”

Side by side, you approach the half dome rock. There are small markings carved in a ribbon around the outside. 

“Don’t suppose you can read those?”

Unfortunately, any hopes that the ability to read the ancient looking text was somehow imprinted on your brain due to your jedi mojo, is quickly dashed.

You slowly walk around the rock. “Yes. It says, ‘Drinks are two for one on ladies night.’ We should totally go, I haven't been on a date in for-ev-er. ” 

“That’s not true. You had a date back on Tatooine, remember?”

“Oh yeah….good ol’ what’s his face. Tried to enslave me off to his douchelord friend and didn’t even buy me dinner.” 

“Tell you what, “ he says, rounding on you to lift your chin up and meet his gaze, “I’ll buy you a real fancy dinner of dried meat and dehydrated bread…you just have to do one thing for me.”

“Mmmm, Mando- you sweet talker. What do I have to do? Is it put-out ? Because I don’t know who you think I am, but I am not that kinda girl. I do not put-out on the first date.” 

Mando gives you a soft sigh of humor but doesn’t release your chin. “I need you to concentrate.”

“Concentrate?”

“There’s got to be something here. I don’t think your brother would have brought you all the way here for no reason.”

The mention of Halo sobers you up. Mando’s right. There’s got to be something useful here, you just need to stop with the nervous chatter and look for it.

“Ok. You’re right.” you agree, nodding your head.

“Good girl.” 

Damn, why’d he have to say it that way. It does things to your body when he says, ‘good girl’.  

STOP! Concentrate!

Mando activates the scanner on his helmet and starts walking around the rock. “Maybe there’s some type of control or something.”

It’s a rock- there didn’t appear to be anything technological about it. 

“Hmmm, give me a boost up?” you ask. “Maybe if I stand on it?”

Instead of giving you a leg up like you expect, Mando grabs you around the waist and lifts you over his head, setting your feet first, on top of the rock. 

You stand there in the center, arms slightly splayed, maintaining your balance. There's dozens of blue butterflies hovering around the rock. The kaleidoscope flutters around, haloing your head, and beautiful, translucent, blue wings tickle your nose. 

“Anything?”

Other than the soft buzzing sound, of which you had no idea butterflies could make- nope . 

You shake your head with a regretful ‘no’. Mando lets out a frustrated sigh, and you feel sorry to disappoint him. You squat down taking a sitting position, pulling your knees up to your chest. 

The buzzing sound grows louder. So weird.  

“Do you hear that?” you ask.

“Hear what?”

“That buzzing sound? Like an engine fueled by bees. You don’t hear it?! It’s getting really loud.”

Mando takes a few steps back, scanning the sky. A ship, unlike any you’ve seen before, passes overhead, making a landing not far from the Crest. Oddly though, the sound you hear doesn’t feel like it’s coming from the ship. It sounds like it’s coming from the rock. 

The harsh buzzing amplifies sharply, causing you to cover your ears and close your eyes. It’s so loud! Bzzzzzzzzzz Bzzzzzzz. Dear Maker, make it stop. It sounds like a buzzsaw cutting through your skull. Bzzzzzzz. You have to make it stop! Bzzzzzzzzz. You focus all your energy on the sound, willing it to stop before you literally go mad from it. Bzzzzzz. 

Concentrate! You can do this. You stopped a mudhorn in its tracks, you can stop the buzzing. Concentrate!

You focus on the sound, imaging its source as a small, glowing ball of blue and white light. It’s surrounded by darkness, pitch as black, with bolts of lightning forking away from it. You focus on the ball and imagine dimming its light. The lightning becomes intermittent, slowly dying down. The ball begins to flicker, and the buzzing sound wanes. You're doing it!

You keep focus on the ball, straining to dissolve it. The ball begins to shrink, its light dimming as it loses mass. The buzzing sound is now light- you won’t lose your mind after all. You press even harder, the ball shrinking, until finally, its light snuffs out completely, bursting into the kaleidoscope. The beautiful, blue winged insects flutter away until you can no longer see their color. Complete silence. Total darkness. You hear nothing but the sound of your own breathing. Ordinarily, you’d find that unnerving, eerie even. But right now, for some reason, you’re not scared in the dark. You’re alone in the dark and not afraid. There's almost comfort to it. You feel like you can say absolutely anything, and the universe will hear your message. 

So what is it that you want to say? 

Hello?

Your voice echoes through your mind and out into the infinite abyss. You wait in silence to see if the universe hears you. 

Hello, it says back. The universe has the warm voice of a male, kind and intrigued. 

What to say? What to say next? What does one say when the whole universe is listening? As if he senses your hesitation, he answers first. 

What is your name?

My name? What’s my name? Why am I drawing a complete blank? The universe wants to know my name and I can’t land on an answer. Why is it so hard to speak? You try to focus your energy on projecting your name out, but it takes an incredible effort. You barely manage to say the words. 

He repeats your name and answers in kind.  I am Luke.

His voice is comforting, strong but friendly…so calm. He doesn’t seem at all disturbed to be hearing voices from the abyss. 

How can I help you? 

Help? Yes! You need help. How to answer? You start to speak, but your words sound like you’re underwater. What if he can’t understand? You begin to panic. What if this is your one chance to get help and you’re blowing it because your voice doesn’t want to work? 

As if understanding your dilemma, the voice answers back. Show me. 

Show him? But how? 

He repeats himself again. Show me. 

You forget about using your voice and try to conjure images with your mind's eye. You can’t explain what it is you need help within pictures, so instead, your mind flashes back to memories. 

There’s a flash of your father fighting with your brother. A flash of the orphanage and running away. A flash of the mudhorn and passing out. A flash of the Imps hunting you down and a flash of you trying to heal Mando, his bloody head in your lap- your eyes squeezed closed. Not a single flash lasts more than a few seconds. It would be impossible for anyone to decipher much beyond some convoluted puzzle with far too many missing pieces. 

The images dissolve and the darkness begins to fade to light. No! No! You failed! This was your one opportunity to find help, but you can feel yourself slipping out of the darkness, away from the voice. You try to reach out, but there’s nothing to grab on to. You can already feel the warmth of the sun returning to your skin. Just before the light completely drowns out the darkness, you hear the voice speak one last time. 

I’m coming. 

Face meets dirt as reality comes crashing back into focus with a hard thud . You blink your eyes open and spit the grit out of your mouth. You look to the side and see the rock you must of toppled off of when you came out of your stupor.  As your processing comes back online, you register the sound of rapid-fire blasting in the distance. Din!

“Mando!” you shout, attempting to rise back to your feet. Your head is pounding with the galaxy’s worst hangover, causing your stomach to roll with nausea as you try to regain your wits. 

“Mando!” you scream again, sounding shrill to your own ears. You stumble away from the rock, heading toward the sound of blasting. He must be under fire- you have to get to him!

Another loud buzzing sound grows. Not again. 

No. Not buzzing. The sound of multiple small rocket engines, similar to Mando’s jetpack, and closing in. Dust wafts over your eyes and metal clanks, as several seven foot tall battle droids land in a circle around you. You pull out your blaster and begin firing with zero hesitation. Every shot is a direct hit, but goes ricocheting wildly into the atmosphere. You continue firing as they take synchronized steps forward, trapping you in a circle. You turn to face a different one, hoping that your shots will have better impact on the next, but whatever their exo-skeletons are made of, it seems to be resistant to blaster fire. The droid to your left swings out, hits your forearm and knocks the blaster out of your hand with a jarring impact that reverberates through your bones. 

You hear Mando shout your name just as another droid grabs you from behind. You’re immediately lifted off your feet as rockets ignite, and you’re rapidly launched into the air. The ground disappears at an alarming rate and it’s mere seconds before the giant rock formations are mere boulders to your sight. You instinctually clutch to the metal arms holding you as the ground grows smaller and smaller. You still have a knife, but what good does that do you when the enemy is currently the only thing keeping you from falling to your death? 

Wind blasts your face as you continue to rocket upward. You feel your lungs starting to burn as the breathable air grows thin, causing you to gasp and your vision to blur. Does this droid have any idea that you are human and that your species requires air to survive? You consider shouting as much but can’t seem to swallow enough air to form the words. It’s all a moot point anyway, when the world fades to black.

 

“I don’t understand why we have to just stand here, there’s nowhere for her to go.” an unfamiliar voice says. 

A second unfamiliar- also slightly modulated- voice replies, “I don’t know, we just do.”

You woke several minutes ago, but sensing unknown surroundings, remained still, keeping your eyes closed, so as not to alert your new company. 

“How long do we have to stay here?”

“I dunno, until Gideon arrives.”

“What’s so special about her anyway?”

“Ah, who knows. I think it has something to do with that dorky doctor onboard.”

You sense the two males- going by their voices- are staring at you. Somehow, you manage to remain perfectly still, though you sneak the slightest peek through nearly sealed eyelashes. Two black and white silhouettes in the vague shape of human males. Troopers.  Beyond that, you are unable to see where you are without opening your eyes and giving away your conscious state. 

You do a mental status check. Surroundings, unknown . Injuries, none that you sense . Enemy, at least two stormtroopers . Weapons, blaster gone …. sorry Din, another one bites the dust. Knife, maybe? You’ll have to slide your hand around to your hip in order to know if they’ve disarmed you or not. You can’t do it without being seen, so you’ll have to wait for the right moment. Until then, you continue to listen, hoping they'll unknowingly reveal some useful information. 

A moment goes by, with nothing more than some restless shuffling. 

“So, she’s the one we’ve been chasing all over the galaxy? I still don’t understand what's so special about her.”

“I don’t know, Maybe Moff wants to do some experiments on her. I don’t ask questions.”

Moff? And you thought you heard him say Gideon earlier. Moff Gideon- the man who sent Din that threat. The one who set the original bounty. Not. Good. 

One of the troopers yawns, while the other one sighs……

“Hey, are you even sure she’s alive? I haven't seen her move once.” 

“Shouldn’t we check and make sure she’s still alive?” 

Sigh… ”You just wanna get a better look at her, probably check out her rack.”

“Well, we should check and see if she’s hurt, the last thing we want is Gideon coming in here and finding out that the thing we’ve spent months chasing all over the kriffing galaxy, just died on our watch.” 

“Fine, go ahead. Take a peek, you check.”

You can hear the trooper's soft footfalls as he slowly approaches. You will yourself to slow your breathing so much that your chest won’t rise and fall. This might be my chance. 

“She’s not moving.”

“Are you sure? Check for a pulse.” 

The trooper comes closer, placing his hand on your neck, below your ear. He waits about five seconds. Not yet….Not yet. 

“I don’t feel anything.” 

“You idiot, you’re wearing gloves.”

“Oh yeah.” he replies, stupidly.

“I know, check her breath.”

“How do I do that?” 

“Get close, see if her breath fogs your visor.”

“Ah, good thinking.” 

This is it. 

You feel the trooper sit down on the bench beside you. The rustle of his plastoid armor indicates that he’s leaning forward. You slide your hand over to your hip and feel the unmistakable shape of the dagger. When his helmet comes close, you peer through your lashes and zone in on his exposed weakness. You might not be able to penetrate the plastoid and blaster mesh under his armor, but at this close proximity, you could stab right through the black body glove covering his neck. You unsheathe the dagger, slipping it securely in the palm of your hand. The trooper leans forward, putting his helmet close to your lips.

You spring into action, grabbing the trooper with your empty hand, and yank him against your chest. Your knife hand strikes out, stabbing him in the neck, down to the hilt. Blood arcs across the metal wall when you yank the knife back out, and the trooper falls to his knees. His bucket hasn’t even hit the floor before his friend is on top of you. He grabs you around the neck, trying to push you back into the wall. Just like we practiced….

You pull down on his arm, while thrusting upward with the knife. Aiming for a thin, one inch strip of exposed black fabric. The knife finds its mark and the trooper loses his grip on your neck. You continue stabbing in quick succession, just like Din showed you. You find a vulnerable patch under his arm, leaving the left side of his ribcage wide open. The knife scrapes over bone, grating like stone on the withdrawal, but the damage is already done. The trooper scuffles back, stumbling to the ground with awful liquid choking sounds. Punctured lung. 

One trooper dead, one will be, in a matter of minutes. Threat neutralized. 

You take in the room. A dark room, maybe fifteen by fifteen with metal gray walls, lit by vertical light panels on the side. No windows. No control panels. It’s void of anything other than three walls, a bench, and a large door. Blasters! Troopers are usually armed with blasters! You quickly survey the gurgling trooper. His arms fall limp at his side, and he stops moving. There, next to his leg! You approach the trooper, squatting down to swipe the gun. The large doors retract into the walls and just as you lift your arm to take aim, the blaster is shot out of your hand.

You step back until the back of your knees meet the bench. A tall man, with dark skin and a mustache you’d love to punch off his face enters the room, flanked by more armed troopers on both sides, and a high-ranking officer behind him. He’s holding a glowing….well it can only be described as an ignited laser-sword. The blade is black as space, yet it emits an eerie white light that hums with electricity, sparking the air. It has death written all over it. You fail to swallow the hard lump in your throat, threatening to cut off your air. 

Moff Gideon.

“Drop the knife too.” 

You hesitate, squeezing the hilt tighter. You eye the troopers on either side- both armed- before meeting eyes with Gideon again. He has an irritating smirk on his face, because he knows you’re the fool that brought a knife to a laser-sword fight. There’s no getting out of it, not like that. You toss the knife aside, but remain standing straight, your chin jutting in defiance- even if you did technically obey his order. You may have lost your weapon, but you will not cower. I will not yield to this man.

“Such a crude weapon, for one such as you.” he says, kicking the knife away as he approaches. 

“Such as me?” you manage to reply, without your voice wavering. 

“Yes. You’d be much more suited to something with a little sophistication, don’t you think?”

“Well, you tell me. You seem to be getting off on your extra flair, aren’t you?” you quip back, nodding to his sword. 

He lets out a small chuff, as he approaches closer. 

“Ever seen a weapon like this?” 

He waves the damn thing inches away from your face. With every movement, the weapon seems to voice its own opinion, emitting an unusual sound akin to running your finger over the rim of a glass of water- a strange vibration. Gideon is totally getting off on this little power play, but you do your damndest not to flinch. 

“Why don’t you hand it over, and I’ll take a closer look?”

“Tsk Tsk, I don’t think you're quite ready for that.” he says, retracting the blade to disappear into the hilt. 

He stares at you again, like he’s just won the galaxy’s best prize. 

“I’ve been looking for you a longgg time,” he says, addressing you directly, by your given name. Hearing the sound of it roll off his tongue so easily, leaves you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. This man, so smug, is clearly trying to unnerve you. 

“I must say, your welcome party leaves much to be desired.”

He smiles again, taking your attempt at sarcasm as a sign of weakness. 

I hate this man. 

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase, and you tell me what it is exactly, that you want with me.”

“Put her in shackles.” he orders a trooper, before taking a step back.

“We’ll get to that soon enough. For now, your obedience is a good start.” 

You don’t fight when the trooper grabs your wrists, locking them in cuffs. The other gathers the disposed weapons. Their time will come. I will find a way out of this. 

Gideon turns his back to you and leaves the way he came. Before the doors close, you hear him give orders to his officer. 

“Tell Dr. Pershing, we have his vessel.”

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter / All Chapters

A/N: Fun Fact I didn't know until writing this chapter: A group of butterflies is officially called a kaleidoscope. Isn't that fun?! Sometimes they are referred to as a swarm. Groups of caterpillars are called an army.

So, yeah. That chapter was a little bit of everything. Are you still here with me? I can't believe we only have a few chapters left to go. Next chapter is going to be torturous....literally. We are going off course again, in case you're worried this is just going to be a regurgitation of the show....it's not.

Also, I am a shitty editor. It is what it is. Take it or leave it.

As always, kudus, hearts, reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Thank you for reading!

Faithful Readers: @brunette-overalls @yeetusfeetus3000 @mandomovermover @Wildmoonflower @littlemisspascalpascal @mOminousRex @pickledbeskar @spideysimpossiblegirlysimpossiblegirl @starwars-thirsthirst @mandomover

Taglist Request

[phantomenby]

Have you ever considered just saying 'hi' to them?

@vimper1906

David being a little wierdo

Sorry this is so late love, happy friday <3

You were such a dumb little human.

He had been tailing you for almost an hour. Following you as you traipsed across the busy boardwalk, skipping around like the world was all sunshine and rainbows.

His precious darling

Even if you looked behind you wouldn't have moved fast enough to spot him, at one point he had watched you stare at a book for almost twenty minutes, not once checking to see if anyone was watching you.

He was debating sending one of his boys in to butter you up. They already knew of his affections towards you and the four of them had made sure to bump into you occasionally.

Though even if you couldn't see them at least one was always watching over you. Usually himself.

Marko had already slipped past you tonight, checking in on you and reporting back to the pack. He had offered to kidnap you multiple times, claiming to be the best at subduing prey and luring them away from safety.

David had refused, at first. Even through his obsessive haze he could see the damage it would do. No. He wanted you, and he would get you. But he would do it fairly, otherwise, you would despise him for an eternity.

His sweet angel

"Have you ever considered saying 'hi' to them?" Dwayne had snuck up behind him, growing restless with his highly immature brothers who wanted to spend the night causing chaos.

Without answering the smaller of the two turned away from you, walking towards the bikes while pulling a smoke from his pocket. He would come find you later.

-

Another week had passed and you had vanished, they had waited on the boardwalk the first few days, expecting to see you out with your friends in the summer heat. When you didn't show they traveled across town to the small bungalow your family resided in, finding it empty and smelling stale.

You had gone, left him behind. He was livid.

His boys had to hold him to prevent him from hunting you down. It wasn't until Marko had all but combed through your home and found the paperwork for your trip to Texas that he had taken a moment to think.

You would be back in two weeks, two long, painful weeks. When you returned he would make sure you knew who you belonged to. Who owned you.

-

"Just another hour honey."

It was almost completely dark outside as you drove back to your home by the sea. Gazing out of the window showed you the beaming lights of the boardwalk, crowds building in preparation for a new band playing that your brothers had been crowing about the entire trip.

"Come on mom, just a couple hours-"

"I said no. It's almost ten and I'm too tired to take you tonight, we can go tomorrow."

They grumbled about it all the way up the drive, lugging their bags over their shoulders as they bounded up to their room, turning on their radio and slamming the door behind them.

Your mom sent you a look, rolling her eyes and pulling you with her into the house.

"Did you have fun baby?"

Nodding you wrapped an arm around her shoulder, talking about the other places you all could go on road trips to before summer ended. Your mother listened but noted how she did infact need to work to make a living.

"I could go on my own momma, you know. I'm old enough to take the bus"

Sighing she placed a warm hand on your cheek and you knew what it meant. Growing up in Santa Carla made her scared, too worried about having you out on your own.

Heading to your room you got ready for bed, your brothers might have all the energy in the world but long trips took you out.

Leaving your curtains open and your window ajar to let in the cool night breeze, before climbing into bed and under the covers, sending you into a slow slumber.

Maybe if you had looked, if you were like your mother, you would have seen them.

David had been waiting for two hours, today was the day.

An hour ago Paul had sent Marko over to tell him you were headed home, soon back in the safety of his territory.

He heard you first, listening with displeasure as you spoke of leaving Santa Carla again. Of leaving him. He wouldn't allow it, never again should you be so far away from him.

From one of the trees in your garden, peering out like a beast awaiting its prey, he watched. Rumbling in pleasure as you left your window open, clearly an invitation.

Moving with ease and without a sound, he climbed inside, perching himself at the end of your bed.

You were fast asleep, chest rising with shallow breaths as your eyes roamed beneath your lashes. The dreams he blessed you with were sweet, welcoming. Without his influence you often had nightmares, and he knew they had returned in your time away.

It was one of his greatest tricks, his ability to manipulate your mind into believing Santa Carla was the safest and best place for you to be.

Reaching towards you his hand ghosted over the exposed skin of your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh which has been marred with small scratches and bruises from your trip.

He pulled off his gloves, placing them in his pocket before climbing further up the bed, laying in front of you with his back to the wall. Firm arms wrapped around your upper half, a cold hand cradling the back of your head as he pulled you closer to his chest, breathing in your scent. Taking note of where you had been.

You stirred and his fingers wove into your hair, pressing along your scalp as he shushed you.

Your mother had gone to bed, and he could hear your brothers fussing about but they wouldn't come near your room.

It was nearing three when he left, sensing his brothers returning to the nest and not wanting to be caught out in the early rising sun. He had spent the entire duration holding you to him and pressing against you as he played with your mind, scenting you so no others would risk coming near what was his.

-

You woke well past midday and the sun was almost halfway down the sky.

15:00

Groaning you pushed yourself up, running your hand through your tousled hair and stretching out, noting how fresh the room smelt with the window being wide open from what you assumed to be the wind.

"Slept like the dead huh" you mused, it wasn't uncommon but not the healthiest.

Climbing out from your bed you headed to the bathroom, locking the door and climbing into the tub to clean yourself up, still feeling pretty grimy from the trip home since you had to drive along the long dirt road leading into Santa Carla.

After an hour you climbed out, no desire to simmer in cold water for longer than necessary.

You knew you were being taken out to the boardwalk tonight so your mother could appease your brothers, lest they spend the next month wining until some other new scene came along.

Opting to pull on some high-waisted jeans and a cropped button-down that was a deep blue and covered in drawings of planets, then hunting for your boots. Once you found them you made sure to pair them with some thick socks, even if they were fairly worn by now you didn't want to risk coming home with blisters.

"Thirty minutes!" Hearing your mother call up the stairs you finished up, running a comb through your hair and fluffing it up a little, deciding to slide on your two favourite rings so you felt more complete and had something to toy with when you were bored.

"Coming!" Running down the stairs you headed for the car, hopping into the passenger seat before your brothers could, laughing at them when they stumbled through the front door and landed on the ground, glaring at you. You were momma's favourite, there was no chance their whining would get through to her.

"Oh stop it, boys! If you wanted to get there first then you should have spent less time grooming your hair. Now get in, I wanna do some shopping"

-

The boardwalk was busier than ever, people who had been too tired from work to come out yesterday evening were now crowding the large attraction.

Turning your mother gave the three of you a stern look, "now you boys go have fun, here's ten for somethin' to eat." as soon as the money was snatched up they ran off, heading for the hotdog stand at the far end.

Sighing she pulled out some money for you, "here hun, check in on them once in a while for me?" you nodded and she kissed your cheek, "I'll be near the theatre if you get desperate, but have a good time too baby!"

You watched as she disappeared into the crowd, leaving you alone in the great ocean of people.

Me, myself and I huh.

Entering the crowd you let it guide you, no idea where you wanted to go. You didn't mind the boardwalk but after living here your whole life it became too predictable, like it was stuck in some sort of time loop.

After some time you opted to just flit about the small stalls, talking to the owners about what they were selling and picking up things and inspecting them, only buying some small rings and a scrunchie which were fairly cheap.

He had joined you not long ago, watching you from the moment you stepped into his line of sight. Observing how you admired all the small prizes you couldn't afford.

When you moved on from the jewellery store with little more than some dollar rings he followed, stopping to buy the necklace you had been a little intrigued by, a tight silver chain with a moonstone pendant that was designed to sit flush against your neck.

In all his years of luring humans he knew how easy it was to grab their attention with something shiny and valuable, he and the boys always had some trinket on them to flash and take back by the end of the night.

"Excuse me"

You paused as a hand curled over your shoulder, softly pulling you back as a voice called out to you. Turning you were met with eyes as clear as the winter sky, full of power and control. The world around you became dulled and faded, nothing left but the world within his pale blue orbs.

"You there?" realising you had zoned out you snapped back, face flushing as you opened your mouth to respond.

"Y-yes sorry, got a little lost there," he chuckled, stepping closer to you.

"Is that so?" you hadn't realised where you had walked off to, now trapped slightly against the railing as he closed in on you.

Clearing your throat you adjusted your shoulder bag, "can I help you?"

Davids eyes flashed before he lifted his hand, presenting his gift to you as it swung in front of your face like a hypnotic pendulum.

It took a moment for your mind to process what it was, realisation dawning on your face when you saw that it was the necklace you had looked at before, though you wouldn't buy anything as pricey as that.

"Is...is it for me?" David nodded, offering to put it on for you, calming your mind with his own when you went to reject the offer and moving to stand closer so he could attach it at the back.

Feeling his cold breath against your neck made you flush, heartrate picking up and palms becoming sticky with nervous sweat. You looked down at the new piece of jewelry now, feeling the hold metal pressing to your skin. It brought you bak, out of your haze.

Flushing you pulled away from him, much to his displeasure.

"Thank-" you took a breath as it came to you again, shaking your head, "thank you, that's really, uh, kind of you."

Get it together.

David smirked, you were trying to fight off his pull. He would let you, for now, he knew the consequences of a vampire's influence, soon enough you would be weak enough to take.

"Of course, can't let a pretty thing like you not get what you want."

Did the air suddenly become hotter?

Introduce yourself idiot.

Your mouth moved, and you barely registered what you were saying, but you heard the man repeat your name back to you. Watching his lips move, enjoying the way your name rolled off his tongue, how he dragged it out like he wanted to savour it.

David already knew your name, knew almost everything about you really. But it felt good for you to give it to him. It was his now.

"I'm David"

You nodded, glancing down at your feet before meeting his eyes again, "hi David."

-

And that was how you found yourself being escorted around the boardwalk.

David clearly had no concept of boundaries, and you were curious whether he was from somewhere outside of America where this kind of behavior was normal.

But you were too awkward to say anything, choosing to accept the possessive feeling of his hand pressed against your spine, directing you where he wanted you to go and keeping you out of the path of any unsavory characters.

"Something on your mind sweet," his voice carried through your mind, his cool breath brushing past your ear as he leaned in close.

You flushed, that hot burning feeling passing through you as you turned your face away, "n-no, just enjoying the night."

He chuckled, hand moving up to curl around your waist as he made both of you stop beside the railing, his other hand reaching to hold your chin.

"Look at me," as your eyes met his he had you, he knew he had you. From the way your cheeks flushed, the delicious blood blooming beneath as your lips parted so cutely.

"David..." and your voice, god your voice, he would spend eternity pulling the sweetest sounds from you.

And as his lips met yours he knew he would have you forever.

[caranox]

This Dark Embrace: A Cruel Fate Story

Devyn Kinsley is a witch—a male witch—with little power in his matriarchal coven. In one of the last neutral-territory cities, filled with creatures that can offer him more, he's managed to keep his head down in favor of living right by his family. The problem is that ever-present pressure to marry a girl from his coven to ensure he doesn't fall prey to the temptation of binding himself to something far more vicious.

So when Devyn has a chance encounter with a mysterious, heroic stranger called Lonán, who Devyn assumes is a wizard, he falls head-over-heels, thinking that he's found a way out of a loveless marriage. But Lonán may not be exactly who he seems...

Interested in the first chapter of this (achillean) m/m urban romantasy? Read below! You can find the rest on my Patreon (chapters 1-3 free; chapter 4 onward available for supporters)!

01 — Devyn

“Once again, selling crystals and talismans in the break room during operating hours is against company policy,” the supervisor rattled off from the notes on his phone, taking the time to push up his glasses before continuing. “Push your side hustles when you clock out.”

Devyn Kinsley shifted and rubbed his arms as some of the other couriers nudged each other with snide remarks about getting caught. The supervisor continued to scroll through his phone with a sigh and rattled off a few other instructions about changing routes and delivery updates, but Devyn couldn’t help but bounce on the balls of his feet. That overwhelming urge to move nipped at his heels.

“You good, Dev?” the guy next to him whispered. A brown, muscular bicep elbowed him before he felt those deep, coffee-colored irises fix on him. Conall.

“Y-yeah. Sorry.” His shoes stuck to the vinyl tiles again.

Conall shook his head. “No wonder you get so many deliveries done whenever you clock in. I don’t know where the hell you get all that energy. Does being cooped up as a boy witch do that to you?”

Devyn stiffened. His question was laced more with curiosity than he expected. Devyn’s own dark eyes slid over to the druidic emblem hung around a cord on the guy’s neck.

“I’m… not sure. Maybe,” Devyn admitted, squeezing his arms a little tighter. “I’d just rather be out working than sitting around the house all day. Don’t really want to be a burden.”

The guy snorted. “Never really understood why covens treat men like criminals. They act like banishing them to a house will keep them out of trouble somehow.”

Devyn’s chin dipped down into his sweatshirt collar, hating how his ears heated. Goddess, why was he feeling so guilty now? Sure, he’d felt a little uneasy when he’d first taken this job a few months ago, but his moms hadn’t really dissuaded him from doing it. Granted, they hadn’t been completely thrilled with the idea either, especially once they heard the courier service he’d be working for delivered to anyone and not just magically-inclined humans.

He glanced around at the other people in the breakroom: a small army of druids holding cups of stale coffee or water bottles, rolling their eyes as their boss droned on about new company policies. And then there was Devyn­—a single witch in their midst. A black sheep trying to fit in, even though they could all see right through him with his lack of tattoos of Celtic knots or flowering trees, his unpierced ears and nose, his bulkier sweatshirts and jackets instead of form-fitting leather.

Devyn’s eyes wandered over the others in the room until the supervisor cleared his throat and boomed out a druidic word he always did at the end of his meetings. “All right. You’re all dismissed. Remember to file the proper paperwork for any damages or returns. We can’t afford to get lax on that again.”

Some of the couriers half-shoved each other into the walls as they filed into the corridor, cackling about something to do with selling incense from their locker last week, but Devyn could only think of wanting to grab his delivery bag and hurry out into the street. He wove between a few of them to the shelf with ‘KINSLEY, DEVYN’ stickered above it.

“Dev—”

Devyn spun around to Conall again as he hoisted up his own bag.

“You’ve been kind of quiet recently. You sure you’re okay?”

He started to nod before blurting out, “Yeah. I’m good. Really.”

Conall’s frown persisted as they started outside together, stepping into the side street behind the building with dumpsters and bicycles crammed up against the brick walls. Silence pooled between them as they dragged themselves to the main road, the sound of cars momentarily interrupted by obnoxious laughter spilling out the exit behind them as the rest funneled out to start their routes.

Conall his throat. “Um, so… I was thinking…”

Devyn hummed for him to continue as he plotted the addresses on his list for his map.

“You want to get a drink tonight?”

He inwardly cringed at the thought of being surrounded by numerous coworkers, along with trying to talk his moms into letting him stay out a little later instead of running home to help with dinner. “I… don’t know. I’m not exactly fond of dealing with a bunch of drunk druids,” he said with a laugh, hoping to soften the blow.

Conall his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and blew out a nervous chuckle as he reached for the back of his neck. “I was actually thinking it’d just be the two of us.”

Oh. Devyn’s heart lept into his throat. “I- I can’t,” he choked out. “N-not that you’re not—I mean—” He flinched as Conall’s brows knit together, and Devyn tried to stammer out a reason that didn’t make him sound like a total dick. After all, this guy was pretty. And nice. And okay, maybe he wasn’t quite Devyn’s type, but it’s not like he’d really had the chance to meet many other guys outside of his coven with the routine of going to school or work and then straight home. “I’m pretty sure my moms would kill me if they heard I was seeing a druid.”

“Well, um—Have you considered converting?”

Devyn clutched his phone a little tighter, blurring the screen around his fingers with the sweat on his hands. “I know that coven life may seem really weird to you, but I” —he shook his head— “I can’t abandon my family. I’m also not trying to discount how kind you’ve been to me by showing me around and hanging out with me, but I’m kind of just coming to terms that I’m probably better off not seeing anyone since my only options are other girl witches and a bunch of wizards.”

“You act like someone’s not going to come along and try to sweep you away,” he said with a humorless chuckle. “Dev, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

“My family isn’t super high-ranking in the coven, which means I don’t have much power in my blood. I’m sort of worthless,” Devyn mumbled. “That’s why I took this job—”

He grabbed Devyn’s shoulder right before they hit the corner, the stoplights changing before one of them would be given the signal to escape this horrible conversation. “You’re not worthless,” Conall whispered, his eyes filled with remorse. “The fact that your coven has even pushed that idea onto you is just… wrong.”

A chirp of the crosswalk and Devyn shrugged his hand away. “Rules are rules. It’s what I have to sacrifice to stay with my family. I don’t like it either, but I don’t want to lose what I have.” He hesitated, wishing he could find something better to say—something to remove that weight settling in his gut now. “I’m sorry.”

Devyn stepped away and turned to jog across the street, feeling Conall’s eyes on him until he turned another corner. His pace slowed in the sea of people and creatures wearing the faces of things that appeared human. Everyone and everything around him put on a façade to ward off the things they feared or to undermine the fears of others. Learning to keep his head down and ignore them all turned out to be a better tactic than trying to puzzle each one of them out. The less he tried to decipher a stranger, the easier he slept.

He only wished he could undo his own soul-searching to lift that burden of being the perfect son his moms dreamed of, but he couldn’t imagine his heart ever belonging to a woman.

***

The sun beat down on the buildings around him by the time Devyn pushed into the pub with a box in hand. Dozens of eyes from darkened booths and tables tucked into corners flicked up to take him in before returning to their meals or laptops. He swallowed at the lingering glow of some of them, a tell-tale sign that the things lurking in here wanted others to know of their inhumanity.

He shuffled up to the counter, willing his arms not to shake as he nodded toward the bartender. “I have a package for a” —he tilted the label up as his mind blanked on the name printed there, despite reading it about ten times on the way in— “Heber Marina to sign for.”

The bartender jabbed his thumb toward a door. “I’ll go get him. Give me five.”

His shoes peeled off the tiles with every step on his way to the back of the pub, the sticky squelching making Devyn absently drum his fingers on the package while he waited. Devyn’s pulse picked up when a man a few seats down the bar slid him a look—something he felt more than saw out of the corner of his vision, especially since it was starting to tunnel in on the mirror along the back wall of bottles.

The sharp clack of heels on wood flooring approaching him sent every muscle taught like a bowstring. “Well, well,” came a husky purr.

He jerked in a half-turn, just in time to catch the woman’s hand cresting the bar top. Deep, glimmering plum nail polish on what he hoped were press-ons looked like shards torn from the sky. Devyn’s eyes followed the black, lacy blouse to the woman’s face, and his stomach twisted when he saw the gold irises peering back at him, cut through with a thin, elongated pupil—like a cat’s.

His back dug into the corner of the bar as a wicked smile spread across her face. “I never expected to find a witch here, of all places,” she mused, reaching for tousled waves of his hair.

That need to slap her away or recoil was instantly overridden by a freeze. His entire body locked up, head spinning as air cut off from his lungs, unable to breathe like his brain had malfunctioned, and decided if he became a statue that she’d leave him alone. Devyn clenched his teeth as her nails tingled against his scalp, and she suddenly seized his jaw, forcing him to meet her eyes again.

“Adorable and well-behaved…” A dark chuckle slipped past her glossy lips, and his heart plummeted at the glimpse of fangs. “How would you like to follow me home, little witch?”

The end of his promised five minutes couldn’t come fast enough. He tried to shake his head and winced as her grip tightened, threatening to crush bone. No one else in this establishment spared them another look. Not a single witch or druid in sight slid out of their seat to come to his aid.

Devyn squirmed, finally grabbing the woman’s wrist to try to pry her off of him until she took another step forward. Her body pressed against his, pinning him between the bolted-down stools.

“I think you should reconsider your actions,” she said in a low growl. “I’d hate to have to break you before—”

The man a little further down the bar slid off his stool, and her head snapped up, eyes narrowing on him as he reached for something Devyn couldn’t see.

“Leave the witch alone,” he said smoothly.

She bared her teeth with a guttural hiss that made Devyn’s hair stand on end. He tried to move his head to take in his hopeful savior, but her grip tightened on his jaw like a vice.

“Why don’t you fuck off, pretty boy?”

The man took another step, finally bleeding into Devyn’s vision. At least the demonic woman pinning him against the bar was right about something: he was pretty—beautiful, really. Steely eyes, near-black hair brushed into place, pinstriped suit, monogrammed tie clip with ‘L. R.’, and a cane at his side, a hand choking it right under the handle. He couldn’t be older than thirty, and with the way his thumb pressed up on the silver-dipped grip of the cane, Devyn quickly understood he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

“I don’t think you want to deal with Mr. Marina’s wrath because you decided to ruin his deliveries by snatching a courier and destroying his relationship with that agency. So, I’ll give you one more chance to let the witch go before I cause enough of a racket that he hurries to see what the fuss is about.”

She bared her teeth, fangs, and all before the pressure released from Devyn’s jaw. The woman stalked off, pushing through the front door with a jingle of a bell as he gasped out a shaky breath.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Devyn nodded, rubbing his jaw. “Y-yeah. Thanks. Didn’t mean to cause any problems.”

The man—wizard—pulled away and leaned his cane back up against one of the barstools. “I wouldn’t consider that to be your fault,” he said with a frown. “You were just doing your job.”

“But I didn’t exactly try to fight back either,” Devyn mumbled, feeling heat flood his cheeks with embarrassment. Another wizard he’d humiliated himself in front of, and an attractive one at that too. Great.

“Well,” the wizard said, glancing around the pub, like he was making sure everyone had gone back to their own business again, “if you feel like you owe me, I wouldn’t say no to a date.”

Devyn’s head whipped around so fast, the room almost tilted. He half-stumbled toward the wizard, righting himself as he grabbed onto the bar for support.

The guy rocked back slightly, biting his lip like Devyn might say no. Devyn, who’d only dreamed of a handsome wizard prying him away from the fate of being paired off with some random, woman witch within his coven he’d undoubtedly feel nothing for. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton as he stammered out a “Y-yeah. O-of course.”

The wizard broke into a grin and offered him his hand. “I’m Lonán Reverie.”

“Devyn,” he blurted, thrusting out his own hand into Lonán’s while sparks prickled along his skin. “Devyn Kinsley.”

---

Read Chapter 2 • Support Me on Patreon

[daily-coloring]

Best of 2023 - Albums

Unbelievable year ... Fallen pop stars are returning, long time not seen artists are turning up in a best possible shape, producers making music under their own names, ... First of all I really enjoyed a few soundtracks this year especially Anthony Willis's Saltburn and Arnaud Rebotini's L'lle Rouge. Surprisingly I listened again on repeat a few DJ mixes too. Danny Tenaglia's new Global Underground was a pure treasure, James Zabiela's home session just made me dance for an hour in the living room, as well as Andy Butler's energetic set did too.

01. Roisin Murphy - Hit Parade - "If Hit Parade isn’t Murphy’s best album, it’s certainly her wildest and weirdest. Nowhere else is the scale of her ambition more evident than on the percussive and atmospheric “Free Will.” Murphy says she doesn’t believe in free will but that you should “just make believe that you can write the play” anyway. It’s yet another indelible statement that couldn’t come from anyone else." - Slant Magazine

02. Rebecca Black - Let Her Burn - "An acceptable stretch of Let Her Burn gives Black a chance to reform a persona she had never had any control over until now. As fundamental a shift as perhaps expected, Black warrants this change of pace but there is something inevitable about how these perspectives are formed and how retaliation to reactionary dogpiling a decade ago comes to the forefront. Working hard and pushing through with this half-hour debut LP is exceptional, with spotty highs and consistently solid mixes that give those electronic undercurrents a beat-worthy working. Destroy Me is a crucial highlight in getting to the core of reinvention but also in engaging with how buoyed Let Her Burn is by how much of an opposition it takes to the early works. Black has let her burn, whatever “her” was. Let Her Burn razes and destroys as much as it can, and it works as a successful, credible debut." - Cult Following

03. Sophie Ellis-Bextor - Hana

04. Clark - Sus Dog

05. Everything But The Girl - Fuse

06. Depeche Mode - Memento Mori

07. Mermaidens - Mermaidens

08. Kesha - Gag Order

09. Anna B Savage - in|FLUX - "So as a follow up to A Common Turn, this does feel like an album where, lyrically and thematically, we are dealing with an artist who has battled some of the previous demons, accepted the daily flux of life, and found a way to focus on the moments when life feels most complete. But in a musical context – Anna also seems to have taken that feeling, that love of contradiction, into the songs. At moments explosively ecstatic, at others wrought with emotion – and filled with influences and sounds from areas not explored on the previous LP – the album brings a bunch of disparate sounds and feelings together to create a powerful and impressive whole. Most impressive of all is the fact that, after an album that sent Picky Bastards into a spin for the whole of 2021, Anna has released something as good if not better." - Picky Bastards

10. HMLTD - The Worm

11. JMSN - Soft Spot

12. Orbital - Optical Delusion - "It’s an album of unlikely collaborations. Day One features the operatic talents of Dina Ipavic, while Are You Alive, sung by Lily Wolter of Penelope Isles, floats into moodier, more analog territory. Best of all are The New Abnormal (Golden Girls’ Kinetic turned inside out) and the anti-gammon state of the nation rant of Dirty Rats." - Record Collector

13. Spelling - SPELLLING & The Mystery School

14. Future Utopia - We Were We Still Are

15. CLT DRP - Nothing Clever, Just Feelings

16. Joy Wellboy - The Ones That Got Away

17. Pierre Rousseau - Twenty - Music for Etudes N°20 - Spring Summer 2022

18. Joyce Muniz - Zeitkapsel

19. Emiliana Torrini & The Colorist Orchestra - Racing The Storm

20. Thomas Azier - The Inventory Of Our Desire

21. Sofia Kourtesis - Madres

22. Not Waving - The Place I've Been Missing

23. Restive Plaggona - Ignis

24. Deichkind - Neues Vom Dauerzustand

25. Daughter - Stereo Mind Game

26. Daði Freyr - I Made an Album

27. Yves Tumor - Praise A Lord Who Chews But Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds)

28. Surgeon - Crash Recoil - "Crash Recoil is probably about as close to a live Surgeon record as we’re ever going to get. Child views producing and performing as two disparate disciplines, which they are, and he goes about each in a very different way. This also means it’s about as close to a traditional pop/rock approach to writing and recording as you’re likely to find from an electronic producer, woodshedding tracks on the road and sharpening them to a diamond sheen. More bands and producers should think of adopting the approach as it clearly can yield stunning results, as evidenced by this glorious offering." - Spectrum Culture

29. Duran Duran - DANSE MACABRE

30. When Saints Go Machine - Rosy

31. Young Fathers - Heavy Heavy

32. Maps - Counter Melodies

33. Laurent Garnier - 33 tours et puis s'en vont

34. Benedikt Frey - Fastlane

35. ANOUK - Deena and Jim

36. Anthony Naples - Orbs - "The New York producer once known for muscular house and techno continues to drift into the ether, channeling ’90s chillout and dub techno into his singular vision." - Pitchfork

37. James Holden - Imagine This Is A High Dimensional Space Of All Possibilities

38. Hifi Sean & David McAlmont - Happy Ending

39. Tirzah - trip9love...???

40. Kelela - Raven

[lale-txt]

♡ Happy Birthday, Bee: Whitebeard x F!S/I

a/n: @secretsnailor - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Bee!! from me & @tardiiart who teamed up to surprise you on your birthday! :3c thank you for being such a lovely friend to us and for everything you do! since we can't hug you in person on your special day, we worked in secret on a little something we hope you'll enjoy. sending you all the kisses! ♡

word count: 2.1k

“Nervous much?” – “Thatch. You know I already fucked your dad successfully. There’s nothing for me to be nervous about anymore.”

It was impossible to miss the teasing in Thatch’s voice as his big hair filled up almost all of the display in Bee’s phone. She had her friend on FaceTime, watching him roll out dough in the kitchen of his bakery while she was finishing last touches on her makeup, applying mascara to each lash     with meticulous precision. 

“Sure. Just pretend it’s not your first proper date in ages. Or that you don’t have the slightest crush on Pops. And that you spent two hours picking the right outfit for today. I was right there.”

Bee huffs, taking her eyes off the mirror to stare directly in the camera. She may be small, but she sure could bite when tested, however she gets cut off before she can use her brush as a threatening pointing weapon. 

“And yet still she chose this outfit. Bee, I told you Pops is a boobs man. You should show some cleavage.”

Izou’s handsome face appeared in the display, mustering her with stern eyes and arms wrapped around his new found lover. The two of them were disgustingly sweet together, but still – Bee was glad it worked out for them after listening to Thatch’s whining about unrequited love the other night.

“What’s the point? He even asked me to bring a jacket and mittens, I’ll be all covered up anyway, I guess. Hey, does he always plan surprises for his dates?”

Thatch and Izou exchange a look and shrug. In all honesty, they couldn’t remember when they experienced Whitebeard taking someone out on a proper date, so this was new territory for everyone. What they knew for sure was that Marco had been arguing prior before Pops left with him on why he should take the new Corvette and not his rusty old van while the other sons were secretly taking photos and spamming the group chat with it. 

Bee attempted a few different hair styles but decided to just leave them open in the end, earning an approving thumbs up from both Thatch and Izou who were now forming pretzels together on screen. She smiled over them playfully bickering at each other, arguing who had the most skilled fingers, when she heard a car honk outside. 

“Shit… okay– gotta run, talk to you later, guys!” She blew a few kisses towards the screen and watched the boys wave and waggle their eyebrows at her, before she ended the call and grabbed her few belongings, checking herself one last time in the mirror. Calm down, Bee. You got this. While her drumming heart was trying to tell her otherwise, she was also overly excited to meet the big man again.

They had spent a wonderful night together a week ago, magical almost, and had been in touch ever since. While Whitebeard wasn’t big of a texter, probably because the buttons of his flip phone were a little too frilly for him, he called her several times a day to hear what she was doing, just keeping each other company while one was out getting groceries or cooking dinner. Though one night he also asked her what she was wearing, laughing loudly when Bee went off to explain in a dry voice every detail of her worn out pajama, only to ask him in return if he had his cock in his hands– he did, and they had an amusing attempt at phone sex, deciding that the real thing was a whole lot better. 

Still, Bee fell asleep with a smile that night, yearning to meet him again. When she opened her mail the next day she was surprised to find a handwritten letter in there, ripping it open before she even reached her door. Inside was an invitation to an official date, Whitebeard giving her a time and a date when he was gonna pick her up, scribbled with a cryptic note that she should bring something warm to wear. She called him that night to press more information out of him, but he only chuckled and left her hanging, amused by her pleading and pouting. 

Bee didn’t like surprises, but this one time she would make an exception. And she had a vague feeling anyway, because where would you require a wool jumper and mittens on this hot summer afternoon? 

She laughed when she noticed the infamous Moby Dick parked in front of her house, the old fashioned-van that looked like it would fall apart any second. Whitebeard cranked down the window on the passenger seat, leaning over to greet her with a wide smile. 

“Hey, little Bee.” – “Hey, handsome.”

Whitebeard opened the door from the inside for her, holding out a hand to help her in the passenger seat, not pulling it back once she took a seat. The two look at each other, almost a little shy now that they were seeing each other again after that one night, but the tension falls off their shoulders once they start laughing and lean in for a big kiss.

Bee was almost standing in her seat to reach him, her hands placed on his cheek while his big hands were wrapped around her waist, pulling her over to him. Their lips crashed against each other, needy sounds being muffled with more kisses and hands wandering over their bodies, and for a minute it wouldn’t have been surprising if they started undressing each other right there in the parked car, if only the sound of the van’s car honk didn’t startle them. 

They pull away and grin at each other, and for a few heartbeats they feel like lovestruck teenagers on their way to prom. Now that the kiss was out of their system, Bee finally took Whitebeard all in. He was wearing jeans and a green shirt which he didn’t bother to button up fully, his long blonde hair falling over his shoulders and his distinctive beard looked like it was polished and combed at least three times before he left the house.

Bee gave Whitebeard a look when he started the car, the unholy noises of a dying vehicle roaring through the streets, but soon the sound of his music was blasting louder than the groaning and creaking of the van. He let her flip through his collection of tapes and pick the ones she liked the most, a bit proud of himself that he could cater to her music preferences, humming to the melody with a big hand resting on her thigh. 

“So. What’s the plan? Either we’re going on a week long road trip to colder realms and in that case I didn’t pack enough undies. Or…?” 

Whitebeard pointed over his shoulder to the backseat, not taking his eyes off the road, while Bee turned around and gasped. 

“Ice skating? Don’t tell me you’re secretly a professional figure skater?”

His roaring car made the whole car vibrate and he shook his head. 

“Never tried it. But my boys suggested it could be fun to do something active, so… hope you like the pair I got you.” – “Are you kidding me? They are so extra.”

Bee grabbed the pair of smaller skates and looked at them from every angle. They seemed really expensive, but the pink color was loud. Still, she shifted in her seat with excitement. To be honest, it wouldn’t have mattered what he had planned today, as long as she got to spend time with him. Talking on the phone was nice, but seeing him in all his glory, smelling and feeling him… that was the real deal. 

They arrived at the ice skating rink and after parking the van, Whitebeard walked around the car to open the passenger door for Bee, offering her a hand and not letting go of it. Bee leaned close, enjoying the warmth he was radiating and together they made their way inside. It was lively but not crowded, music blasting from the speakers as people were going around in circles. While Whitebeard sat down on a bench to put on his skates, Bee took the chance to be somewhat on an eye level with him and stole a few more kisses, almost crawling into his lap again if he didn’t hold her back by the hips. 

“Easy, little one… we can get to that later.” 

He winked and ignored how she rolled her eyes, went on to lock their stuff up and after changing into their wool jumpers they soon stepped on the ice together, his big hand in hers. Bee laughed loudly at him when she noticed him standing there like a deer in the headlight, unsure how to move, but that was only until she stumbled and almost fell on her own ass if Whitebeard didn’t have such a tight grip on her, almost making her dangle from his outstretched arm.

“Would have served me right, I guess”, Bee grinned sheepishly as he helped her back on her feet again, his rumbling laugh echoing in her chest.  “You’re lucky that you’re so cute”, Whitebeard replied and leaned down for a kiss, ignoring the fact that his knees were shaking slightly on the unfamiliar ground. 

Together they felt their way into the dark – the dark being the ice rink and dozens of children passing them by at the speed of light while they slowly, very slowly, found their balance. Soon they took off their mittens, craving skin on skin contact, and Bee couldn’t help but feel comforted by her small hand in his, not letting her go once. They spun around in circles, rating the playlist of this place loudly, talking about sweet nothingness and depths of their soul, a mix of lightness and trust pouring in their words.

Time seemed to slip through their fingers and they didn’t even notice when the staff turned off the music; like waking up from a dream they slowly realized that they were the last ones still going in circles and with this realization also came the heavy legs, not used to the motions on ice. Apparently the people working there had tried to get them off the rink for half an hour since they were already closed, but they all were too intimidated by Whitebeard and didn’t dare to approach him. 

They got their stuff from the lockers and changed into their regular shoes and clothes again, giggling and teasing each other about the whole situation in a way only old souls and lovers do, not realizing they might have fallen madly and deeply already.

“My legs feel like pudding. I don’t think I can walk one more step anymore”, Bee groans as she ties her shoes – even this task was exhausting. Still, she had lots of fun today and enjoyed herself to the fullest, and she would do it all over again if it meant she got to hold Whitebeard’s hand for several hours.

“No worries, little one. I got you”, Whitebeard laughed and without further warning swooped her off her feet, and within the blink of an eye Bee was sitting on his arm, grabbing onto his shoulder for support. Their faces were only inches away from each other and she could count every tiny wrinkle on his face, but what really captured her was the blue of his eyes, like the sky and the ocean becoming one at the end of the horizon, a thousand shades of luminescence.

Bee rests her head against Whitebeard’s as they make their way outside to the empty parking lot. It was a warm summer night, the sky vast, not a single cloud hanging upon them. Even if they were on solid ground again, they still felt like they were spinning around in their own little universe, just two star crossed lovers. With their heads in the back of their neck they gaze upon the countless stars, feeling both incredibly small and yet so tall, as if they could pick one from the sky and swallow it with ease.

“A shooting star!”

If Whitebeard didn’t have such a tight grip around her, Bee would probably have jumped, so now she’s just pointing towards the sky, her face lightening up with sheer excitement. It has been ages ever since she saw one. Whitebeard’s rumbling laugh makes both of them vibrate and he turns his face towards her, tilting her head slightly towards him with two fingers. 

“Make a wish…”, he mumbled against her lips before he leaned in for a kiss, humming when she responded to it wholeheartedly with her hands buried in his hair, clinging onto him as if she never intended to let him go, their hearts beating in unison and unspoken wishes being weaved into each other by an invisible red thread. 

[acquariusgb]

Buddy 16th December 1997

TALKING IT OVER BY HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON It was love at first sight. Buddy, as most of America knows, is our new 3 112-month-old chocolate Labrador. Already, Bill and Buddy are inseparable. Having lived with us less than a week, Buddy seems to have adjusted quite nicely to life in the White House. He gets up early with Bill for a morning run and stays up with him late into the night. During the day, he seems happiest lying at Bill's feet in the Oval Office. We've been thinking about getting a dog for a year or so. But it wasn't until Chelsea left for college that we decided to take the plunge. We'd heard that Labradors were particularly playful and fun, and when Buddy came for a visit a few weeks ago, we knew that he was the one. Our first challenge was picking the perfect name. We've had no shortage of suggestions from the American people. Some of my favorites were Barkansas, Arkanpaws and Clin Tin Tin. One little girl came up to me and offered "Top Secret." We had to laugh when we imagined the President running around the South Lawn calling "Top Secret, Top Secret." Finally, we narrowed a list of hundreds of names down to seven. But we wanted Chelsea to have a say, so we waited for her to come home from college and meet the puppy before making a final decision. After hours of deliberation, we settled on Buddy. Buddy was the nickname of my husband's favorite Uncle Oren Grisham, who died last spring. He raised and trained dogs for over 50 years. One of Bill's favorite childhood memories is going to Uncle Buddy's house to play with his dogs. It just felt right to name our new pet after him. Buddy has a hard act to follow.  Our first dog was a brave and noble cocker spaniel named Zeke that I gave to my husband in 1979. Zeke had a mind of his own and a will to wander. No fence, no gate, no leash could keep him penned in. He'd bite or dig his way through or around any barrier. Sadly, his wandering caught up with him one day in 1990 when he dashed into the street and was hit by a car. We buried him on the grounds of the Governor's Mansion in Little Rock. We were reluctant to get another dog because we didn't think anyone could replace Zeke. One day, though, I took Chelsea to her piano lesson. There in the teacher's front yard were two little black and white kittens. When Chelsea reached out to them, the black one with white paws jumped right into her arms. We found out he was a stray and decided to give him a home. That’s how Socks came to live with us. Socks is an outdoor cat, but because of our fears that he would slip through the fence into the traffic and crowds outside the White House, he is kept on a long leash on the grounds near the Oval Office. Despite that, he still manages to carry on regally, chasing birds and squirrels out of his territory. Now, he --and we --have been joined by Buddy. So far, Buddy is thrilled with Socks, but the feeling is not yet mutual. My husband. however, is determined to negotiate a rapprochement, a reconciliation. perhaps even a historic shaking of the paws. Although we love Buddy and have from the moment we first saw him, we didn't make this decision or take on this responsibility lightly. Dogs, and especially puppies. need more than love. They need time, care and a suitable environment to grow and thrive. That’s why everyone needs to think very carefully before adopting what really is a new member of the family. We were luckier than most people to get a dog who was well on his way to being trained. He's got the run of the South Lawn and plenty of people to play with. He already knows some basic commands. Above all, he's got the most adoring pal you could ever imagine. I wish everyone could see my husband's eyes light up when his Buddy bounds down the hall to greet him.

[hoodievixen]

The Voice of God [Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Priestess!OC] Part 10

Summary: Steven and Godeleve thought they finally found some normalcy with each other. Little did they know they would drag each other further into the mysteries ands secrets in their lives. (Godeleve can see and talk to Gods - mainly the Greek kind)

Word Count: ~ 2.2k

Warning: angst, getting into Moon Knight spoiler territory, author has forgotten what a normal conversation is after the end of the world, no beta we die like men

A/N: I introduced two characters in one chapter. Layla is sorta more of a force of the plot than a character, but that will change. This chapter is sorta all over the place...  but it is what it is. This is not a fic of art it is a fic of fun.

Part 9, Part 11 ,  Master List

Godeleve's phone started ringing. It was complicated when Hermes changed her phone number, thought there were few people that needed to be told the new number. It was one such person who was calling her. "Hey Zen," she answered her phone, tucking it under her shoulder so she could continue working.

"Do you have time tonight?" they asked, "I have something I want to show you. I promise it won't take long. I know you have to go and do your thing. So I promise, one hour, then you can disappear into the shadows, and I won't get annoyed about you doing that."

"What is it?" she wondered. Recently Godeleve's time has been rather rare, taken up with responsibilities that she put on herself. Though Zen was also one of her responsibilities. Zen had the same ability as her. No similar to her. Zen could hear gods, but not see them, of course unless they were in corporeal form, but anyone could then. Godeleve met them three years ago, and decided to take Zen under her wing, and teach them about their abilities, and to live with gods bothering them.

Zen actually sounded excited, which was rare about something related to the other realms. "So you know how you told me to look into different religions and mythos. I started doing that, and I found something I think you would like. So I want to show you."

Godeleve leaned back from her project. "Alright, I can be free in half an hour, do you need me to pick you up?"

"No, just meet me there, I'll text you the address," Zen told her. "I'll see you in half an hour. Oh, and please don't bring any weapons. It's not that kind of place."

"I still might wear a wig, or something," Godeleve warned them, "I don't know if the cops are still looking for me, best to have a different face."

"Okay, I know how to spot you at this point," Zen said, "If you come as an anime character, I'll take you our for lunch next week."

Godeleve laughed. "Alright," she agreed. "Did that thing I asked you to do?" Godeleve had asked them to deliver something for her, but Godeleve had growing worries about if she even should have.

"Shit," Zen hissed, "No, I was at the museum yesterday, then I got caught up in all of this. I'll go tomorrow and give it to him."

Godeleve let out a sigh. "No, it's fine. Just throw it away. He's probably forgotten me already."

Zen was silent for a moment. "I still think that one is more of a curse than a blessing. Can't you ask her to get rid of it?"

"I'll see you in half an hour," Godeleve told them, hanging up.

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

Zen had indeed gotten good at being able to spot Godeleve, even in disguise. "Hello Tuesday," they greeted her by the name of the character she was dressed as. Easily being able to recognize it by the white frilly dress and blond wig. "Let me know where you want to go," they said, keeping to their promise. "And you honestly need to teach me how to contour that well.

"It was Apollo," Godeleve informed them, adjusting the back pack they had.

"Of course it was," Zen told them. They started leading her down a sketchy looking alley way. "I know it looks super sketch, but it's not."

Godeleve continued after at her usual switch pace, that matched up well with Zen's long strides. "Now this neighborhood used to be one of the most crime ridden areas in the city. But thanks to what they did, people don't even need to lock their doors at night."

The two came out to a larger alley which the way it was set up reminded Godeleve of markets and plazas in small villages. There were garden boxes along the side walks all with fruiting plants. Children and teens were playing soccer in the street, while adults were easily conversing. There were even small farm animals such as goats and chickens. It was like she walked onto a commune in the middle of London.  

Zen skipped ahead to be able to face Godeleve. "I remember how you used to complain about how hard it was to grow plants in the city. But look," Zen dramatically gestured to the plant boxes. " Fresh tomatoes. The even have a large hydroponic garden inside of spices and budding plant."

Godeleve just gently nodded her head. This felt almost too good to be true. There had to be something else going on here.

"And then everyone had the goal to learn three languages," Zen continued, leading Godeleve further in, to the inside. "We know you already have that passed covered, and I'm on my way with Spanish. But some of the teens know mandarin, which is super cool to think about."

Inside there was more people watching what looked to be a documentary from a projector. Indeed there was a hydroponic garden. There was also a large communal kitchen and dining area. It reminded Godeleve a bit like a college communal room, which she had seen when visiting Zen on campus.

"Whose words are you regurgitating?" Godeleve asked plainly.

Zen stopped walking to be able to face her. "What?" There was a look of pain on their face.

"Zen," Godeleve said calmly. "You don't care about things like this."

"But..." they were clearly shaken, "You do..."

Godeleve nodded. "Yes, you were right that this would be a place I would like. However, there needed to be sacrifices to make a place like this. And I don't trust those sacrifices that I don't know about."

Zen's hurt was quick to turn to anger. "Is there anything I can do to please you?" They wondered.

"What?" Godeleve asked, it was her turn to be confused. "What do you mean?"

"I did what you told me to do, I found a practice of an old religion, and now you're scolding me?" Zen pointed out.

"Wait, old religion?" Godeleve asked, catching that. "Which one?"

Zen perked up. "Egyptian, they worship Amit. Punishing the evil doers. They want to cleanse the Earth and bring peace."

A pair of people walked past them, both of whom Godeleve recognized. One being Arthur Harrow, the person causing her so many issues for not just doing something in front of her. Then Marc, what was he doing not fighting him? No, that wasn't Marc, that was Steven. Marc said Steven wasn't involved in all of this.

"That's Arthur," Zen told them, " He's the head of all this, I'm sure he would love to talk to you." Zen grabbed onto her arm, wanting to bring her over but Godeleve stood her ground.

"Zen this is a cult," Godeleve told them. "That man is the cause of all the monsters coming to this world. He kills innocent people and damming them to an eternity they did not deserve."

Zen froze, staring at Godeleve with a blank look. "So no different than you," he stated.

Godeleve froze, mouth agape. "You don't know anything, " she said after finally finding the words.

"Thanks for finally saying what you think," they hissed.

With a huff Godeleve spun on her heal to leave, happy she didn't listen to Zen and hid her foldable bow in her back pack as well as plenty of arrows. She was rushing to find a good place to hide and pull it out. There was a dark gap between the main building an an empty one.

Godeleve slipped into it, pulling her bag of her back. Standing down the way, standing on tippy toes to peak in through a window was a woman with curly brown hair. "What are you doing?" Godeleve asked.

The woman jumped into a fighting stance. Godeleve held up her hand, her bow in one. "I think we are on the same side," Godeleve told her. "And you couldn't probably walk in. For a death cult, they are rather peaceful."

"You sound like you deal with a lot of death cults," the woman commented.

Godeleve shrugged, "You'd be surprised."

"Do I need to be scared of you?" she asked.

"As long as you aren't in a death cult," Godeleve answered plainly, returning her back pack to her back, up it was half unzipped for her to be able to grab arrows from inside it.

"I'm not," she answered.

Godeleve nodded, "Good, I'm Godeleve. If you're reading in, I'll cover you from above."

The woman looked confused. "Alright... I'm Layla."

"Nice to meet you," Godeleve said with a smile, "I promise not to shoot you." She then returned inside with her bow in head, prepared to fight anyone asking for it.

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

Godeleve had just stood there and watched as Marc destroyed the mirror, his own reflection. He had to know she was there but he didn't acknowledge her not until Khonshu started to approach her.

"Fury," he addressed.

Godeleve sucked in a breath. "I don't go by that. I know sorta confusing, but just Priestess is fine. And congrats on figure some of it out."

"You are a strange creature," the god commented. "Which make me hate to ask this any more. Will you grant us your help."

Godeleve threw up her hand in a shrug. "I think that was going to happen even if you didn't ask."

"What do you mean?" Marc asked, still standing on the dais.

Godeleve sighed. "Someone like me has joined Harrow," she answered. "They can hear the gods. They are young and even younger to their abilities. I thought I was teaching them well. But turn out I wasn't. They were swayed by his words, and my failures as a mentor."

"Who do they serve?" Khonshu asked, wanting to know what he was up against.

Godeleve shook  her head. "They haven't decided."

"So they are nothing more than a human," Khonshu concluded.

"Rude," Godeleve scolded, poking the bident at the god, though it went right through him. "But yeah."

"Then there is nothing for us to worry about" the deity said before disappearing, leaving behind he avatar and the priestess.

Marc and Godeleve just watch each other for a moment. "What are you wearing?" he asked.

"Cosplay," Godeleve said simply, " I thought you said Steven wouldn't get involved."

"Things happen," Marc explained. "But why didn't you help him? You can take care of those things easily. And I know you were there." He held up the two arrow which had previously been in the jackal.

Godeleve stormed over to grab them back. "Because, he's just as capable as you." She grabbed the arrows back from Marc. "I was helping out to make sure Layla stayed safe. She isn't involved in all of this."

"You know Layla?" Marc questioned.

Godeleve was putting the arrows back into her back pack. "Met her momentarily."

"Can you do something for me?" Marc asked.

Godeleve glared at him, "I still don't like you."

"I know, but it's for Layla," Marc started. Godeleve crossed her arms, as a signal she was listening. "She will get involved with all of this. Which, as you said, she shouldn't be, but that's just who she is. When you can," he stressed that part, he knew Godeleve had her own stuff going on, "Could you keep her safe."

"Why?" Godeleve asked harshly.

"Cause... Steven might take control, and despite your beliefs, he's not as capable as I am. And, you are capable of more than me," Marc confessed.

Godeleve let out a dramatic gasp, and pulled out her phone. "Sorry, I didn't hear you," she was holding up her phone to record, "can you say that one more time."

Marc groaned, and pushed down her phone. "Can you do that?" he asked her.

"Why?" Godeleve asked in a more curious tone. "What is Layla to you?"

Marc refused to make eye contact. "She's my wife." Luckily with him refusing to look at Godeleve, he couldn't see the color drain from her face.

"I'll try," she answered. "But I have my own thing to take care of." Godeleve walked off the dais and then disappeared into the shadows.

She reappeared in her bedroom. That was the same moment she fell to the ground. She didn't know the last time she felt this strong of emotions. She cried and screamed, wanting to pull her heart from her chest and stab it. While love was shared by the mind and soul, and despite what may be believed what they had was a division of the soul, but they shared a mind. They shared the same love. The same love of her.

"Oh dear," someone gasped out. Godeleve looked up to find the one being she hated most at the moment. Aphrodite, the goddess of love. "Maybe you should have listened to Artemis."

"Go away," Godeleve begged through the sobs.

Aphrodite crouched down next to Godeleve, "Honey, I am the anger you currently feel. You are practically binding me to you." The god then sighed in pity at the state Godeleve was in. "I'm surprised you can even be in such a mess with the state your in, practically a miracle."

"I hate you," Godeleve hissed out. "I hate you so much. I never wanted to be like you. But here I am, 'the other woman'. You could have told me. Spared me and him all the pain. If he even had any. Because of you, everyone forgets me! Every feeling I've ever had for someone is destined to be lost to them, and mourned by me. I hate it! I hate it! IHATE YOU!"

Aphrodite huffed, standing up and crossing her arms. "I have done you nothing but a service. You never needed to fear someone finding you, thanks to me. And you got to experience love, shouldn't that be enough. How you were going, you were going to die again without ever experiencing it."

"GO AWAY!" Godeleve screamed. "I DON'T CARE IF IT TEARS APPART YOUR EXISTENCE! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

[justadaddybear]

Mike Rowe June 9, 2018

“Hello Darkness, My Old Friend”

On a hot night in 2005, after a long day of spelunking through the septic tanks of Wisconsin, I retired to my suite at the Motel 6, to wallow in the perks of my chosen profession.

First, there was the tepid shower, followed by another. Then, there was the tepid beer, followed by another. Then, I logged into the Dirty Jobs Mudroom, where I planned to chat with fans of my show while watching myself on television, (a narcissistic but mostly harmless habit that eventually got out of control and turned into this Facebook page.) But that’s another story.

On this particular evening, stretched out on a suspicious comforter held together with the DNA of previous guests, I stumbled across a smart-aleck on The Travel Channel eating fermented shark meat in Iceland, and telling his producer he’d be dead by morning. I had to laugh. Just a few hours earlier, I had been eating a fermented hoagie in an open sewer, and lodging a similar prediction with my own producer.

Naturally, I was intrigued by what appeared to be a kindred spirit, Forrest-Gumping his way around the world, pushing the bounds of non-fiction television. The show was called “No Reservations,” and no – I didn’t think it was better than Dirty Jobs. But I did think it was every bit as good, and the more I watched, the more I grew to appreciate this subversive chef’s naked contempt for all the fakery of traditional production. I loved the way he went out of his way be seen as a “traveler,” not a tourist. It reminded me of my own attempts to be seen as a “guest,” and not a host.

From that moment, I was a fan. I read his books, and enjoyed them all. But what I enjoyed even more was the way Tony pushed The Travel Channel into some very uncomfortable territory. It’s not that I think bad language and drinking on camera are cool or edgy; I don’t. But I loved the fact that Tony pushed the network to let the show evolve around his point of view, and his personality. In those days, that almost never happened. It’s still very rare, mostly because the shows are the property of the network, and the network almost always has an opinion about how their hosts should and shouldn’t behave. But Bourdain was his own man – a man on a mission to produce a show that was authentic to him. I admired that. I also admired the way he pushed back when his name and likeness were used to sell Cadillacs without his permission. https://bit.ly/2Jt0EWB He had integrity, and was unafraid to walk away from a steady gig when he believed he was in the right.

I think my favorite thing he ever did was an episode for Parts Unknown. Tony goes scuba diving for octopi in Sicily, with the help of a local producer. But when there are no octopi to be found on the sea floor, the producer starts dropping them off the side of the boat.

Imagine the scene. Bourdain is twenty feet down with his cameraman, when store-bought, frozen octopi begin to float slowly by. It’s absurd, but precisely what a typical producer in my industry would do to “salvage” a scene. Bourdain however, is appalled, and does the only sensible thing he can - he drinks through the rest of the episode, heavily. Later, in voiceover, he reveals the botched attempt to fool the viewer by airing the raw footage. It's the most honest thing I’ve ever seen, in a genre that stages 95% of what it presents as real.

Full disclosure - I don’t know Tony well enough to eulogize him. We met a few times, here and there, shared a few drinks, and complemented each other on our respective careers. We disagreed on plenty, but we approached non-fiction television the same way. We both looked askance at rehearsals, scripts, executive oversight, and most of all, second takes. And we both tried to use our platforms to do more than entertain.

A few years ago, at an event in New York, we traded war stories over some better than average bourbon. I asked Tony about the warthog anus he ate in Namibia, and whether or not the subsequent antibiotics did the trick.

“Hard to know,” he said. “By then, I’d developed a kind of natural immunity. What about you? Still keeping the Hep-A at bay?”

“So far so good,” I said. “My problems these days are mostly with PETA.”

Tony laughed. “Don’t get me started. They’ve got a file on me the size of a phone book.”

We talked about the importance of showing people where their food comes from. He told me about the petition against CNN that arose when he removed the beating heart from a snake. I told him about the boycott against Discovery when I shot a cow and butchered it on camera. We talked about the difficulty of producing a truly authentic show with sponsors and advertisers and millions of viewers with competing agendas, and how grateful he was for the chance to deliver the show he wanted to deliver. I told him about the night I saw him choking down the fermented shark in Iceland, back in 2005, and asked him if he ever imagined a scene like that would lead to a Peabody Award. He told me that awards were nice, but never part of the plan.

“I was mostly trying to amuse myself,” he said. “I just wanted to do a show that I could be proud of.”

Yesterday, when I heard he’d hanged himself, I thought about the first time I saw "No Reservations," stretched out on that suspicious comforter in a Motel 6 outside Madison. Seems like a lifetime ago. I just found the Iceland clip on You Tube, and watched it again - this time from the comfort of a leather sofa, where the only DNA present was my own. I couldn’t help but notice the title of the episode - “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend.”

Old friends, it seems, have a way of reuniting.

Tragically, in this case.

My sympathies to his loved ones, and to his millions of fans trying to make sense of the inexplicable. His was a truly unique voice, and I'll be among those who miss it.

Mike

[hussain-awan]

Harvard Law Meets Pakistan’s Supreme Court: How Our 1L Education Thrived Halfway Across the World

In the throes of 1L year at Harvard Law School, we often heard our peers lamenting the insularity of American legal education and its presiding academy. 

Forced to pore over the intricacies of some constitutional device invented by John Marshall two centuries ago, our classmates complained bitterly about the narrow focus of our curriculum on domestic law and the absence of contemporary international and comparative perspectives. While there may be some truth to these grievances, our extraordinary journey from WCC to the Supreme Court of Pakistan in the foothills of the Himalayas has shown us just how remarkably versatile our 1L education can be when applied in unexpected and unfamiliar settings.

It all began with a simple question we posed to Justice Syed Mansoor Ali Shah, the incoming Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Pakistan, during an informal chat in Austin Hall last year. We asked if he had ever seen law students or lawyers, trained in the Western jurisprudential traditions of England or the United States, succeed in what seemed to us the wholly alien world of the South Asian legal system. To our surprise, he answered our question with a proposal: come to Islamabad, he said, and he would have us serve as summer law clerks at the Supreme Court during his next term. 

Uncertain about the practicality of such a venture but freed by the end of our regular summer jobs in July (I’d just finished my 1L internship in Tunisia, while Saeed was wrapping up his 2L summer in New York), we jumped at the chance to spend a few months bridging the gap between our American legal training and our Pakistani heritages. Little did we know that this casual conversation would lead us to an incredible weeks-long adventure that would not only enrich our understanding of Pakistani jurisprudence but also underscore the value of our 1L education.

The challenges we faced were, in some respects, unlike anything we had encountered in our 1L years. From the moment we stepped foot in Pakistan, we were immersed in a world where the legal landscape bore little resemblance to what we had studied at Harvard. On our first day on the job, we watched Supreme Court oral arguments with fascination, as lawyers and justices alike flitted between posh, Londoner-accented Queen’s English and an equally fluent Urdu, with Punjabi idioms sometimes thrown in for verve. 

Later, we were invited to make motorcycle trips to the much older district courts of Rawalpindi, where we saw colonial-era courtrooms –– still marked by a distinct British architectural style –– crowded in by dozens of tightly packed law offices hosting small firms and solo practitioners desperately competing to try and scrounge out a living in the environment of the katcheri (court complex).

However, the skills we had honed during our 1L year turned out to be surprisingly useful in navigating this unfamiliar territory. In a foreign legal system with its own complex set of precedents, we found ourselves stuck in the cavernous Supreme Court basement library for days, poring over hundreds of pages of the leading constitutional case law. Luckily, the endurance we’d built making our way through readings for Legislation and Regulation with Prof. Matthew Stephenson, J.D., PhD 03’, or CivPro assignments for Prof. Stephen Sachs, B.A. 02’, suddenly proved very useful. 

The agonizing hours spent on our LRW bear memos and veterinarian briefs bore fruit as we navigated new databases like the Pakistan Law Site with ease. Perhaps the most intriguing application of our 1L education came, somewhat surprisingly, in the realm of procedure. We found ourselves comparing and contrasting the use of concepts such as original jurisdiction between SCOTUS and the Supreme Court of Pakistan. 

While 1L Civil Procedure had taught us the basic idea of original jurisdiction and its limited application in the jurisprudence America’s highest Court, we now grappled with the much more expansive use of suo moto (court action without a motion) powers, original dockets, and public interest litigation in the workload of its sister institution in Pakistan.

Our experiences in Pakistan have since culminated in a comparative constitutional law paper now in the process of finalization. The paper contrasts the appellate-focused US Supreme Court with the emergence and growth of first-instance public interest litigation at the Supreme Court of Pakistan. We are thrilled to announce that our paper has already been accepted for publication in some of Pakistan’s leading law journals.

Our journey from Harvard Law School to the Supreme Court of Pakistan is a testament to the adaptability and power of our 1L education. It shows us that the skills we developed in the American legal system can be effectively applied to tackle complex legal issues in a variety of contexts. As we continue our legal careers, we are committed to building bridges between institutions in our countries of study and our countries of origin, creating opportunities for legal talent to thrive and make a meaningful impact on the law globally.

As much of a nightmare as 1L can be, our experiences halfway across the world remind us that the skills acquired during our first year can transcend borders and prove their worth in unexpected ways.

Hussain Awan is a 2L at Harvard Law School, a contributor to Harvard Law School’s Global Anticorruption Blog, a Chayes Fellow, and a former clerk to Justice Syed Mansoor Ali Shah. Awan attended McGill University, graduating as class valedictorian. 

Saeed Ahmad is a 3L at Harvard Law School active in the Harvard Association for Law & Business and the Admissions Fellow program. He graduated from UCLA and worked at LVMH before law school. He is a former clerk to Justice Syed Mansoor Ali Shah.