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heliads · 3 years

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The Value of a Friend

Peter Parker is fairly surprised when a classmate, Y/N L/N, is able to figure out his secret identity as Spider-Man. He’ll come to rely on her over the next few months, although he may make a surprise discovery about his feelings for her on the school trip to Europe.

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Peter Parker’s legs swing absentmindedly over the edge of the roof. There’s nothing much going on right now- brick, stucco, and metal as far as the eye can see. The lights of the city that never sleeps reflect off of the windows; a thousand sights and sounds and happenings littered down the boulevards. Despite all the comings and goings, the rush of people across the streets, nothing major has happened all night. Peter knows he technically shouldn’t be hoping for crime, but he does want at least one thing to happen to justify him staying up this late on patrol duty.

Peter’s got the usual mask pulled down over his face, disguising the heavy circles under his eyes. He may have superhuman strength and durability, but his powers don’t appear to help him run on less sleep. However, Peter’s used to staying up long nights patrolling. This particular moonlit outing isn’t unusual.

There’s a movement out of the corner of his eye, and Peter shifts to glance over at the orderly streets behind him. There- a girl walking down a sidewalk, her pace brisk and hurried to steer her quickly through an alleyway. With a rush, Peter realizes that he recognizes the girl. Her name is Y/N L/N, she’s in some of his classes. He wouldn’t exactly consider her a best friend, maybe more of an acquaintance. This isn’t due to any specific animosity, Peter just never really got the chance to talk to her. Sometimes, however, he wishes he had.

Y/N isn’t just smart like the other students in his class, she’s clever. Peter has seen the way her eyes light up when she figures something out, the same light that winks out from underneath her eyelashes when she laughs over a bad joke with her friends. Peter shakes himself for a second. Why is he thinking so much about her eyes? He shouldn’t have the way she smiles memorized at all, ready to call up at a moment’s notice.

Besides, Peter realizes with a dull chill, Y/N’s eyes are different from Peter’s on one grand scale. Y/N has no superpowered senses, and so she cannot tell that there are two or three men shadowing her as she wends through the streets. Peter curses softly, realizing that the men are definitely following her. Without a second thought, he leaps down from the building, swinging towards them on ropes of spider silk.

Peter’s goal was to take them out before they got close enough to reach Y/N. However, they were too far away and it doesn’t look like a secret rescue will be happening tonight. They’ve already cornered her in a narrow street, hands pulling guns out of coat pockets. Peter acts as quickly as he can- spiderweb launched at one, dragging him back against the wall of the street. The other Peter takes on directly, aiming a blow at the man’s head that knocks him backward before Peter hits him again. Peter would usually tie the thugs up and leave them for some other soul to deal with, but the men are already running away without a second’s hesitation and he doesn’t much feel like trying to track them down.

There’s a soft sound behind him, like a gasp of breath, and Peter turns around to see Y/N standing there, looking shaken but unhurt. Peter panics for a moment before remembering that his mask is still snugly in place. She would have no way of knowing him. Peter takes a hesitant step closer, reaching out his hands to show that he means no harm. “I’m, uh, Spider-Man. Are you alright?”

Y/N shakes her head hastily. “No, I’m fine. Thank you for saving me from those guys.” Peter waves a hand. “No problem. All in the job description, you know?” Y/N laughs, but the sound dies slowly from her lips as she stares at him. Her head cocks slightly to the side, as if she’s considering something. She raises a hand slowly to point at him like she’s unsure of a truth but determined to say it nonetheless.

“Are you Peter Parker?” Peter stiffens, turning hurriedly to make sure that nobody could have heard her. Dimly, he realizes that he should have denied this first instead of acting like this was something to be hidden. “Uh, no. I don’t know who that is.” The lie sounds fake even to his own lips. A small smile is growing over Y/N’s lips, as if she’s incredulous. “You are. Peter Parker from chem class is Spider-Man.”

Peter figures that the game is up, so he tugs his mask from his head. Y/N’s eyes dart to his face, washing over every detail as if in awe. “It’s true. You’re actually Spider-Man?” Peter nods thickly. “How did you know it was me?” A slight blush forms in Y/N’s cheeks. “I, uh, you looked familiar.” Peter raises an eyebrow. “I was wearing a mask.” Y/N blushes harder. “You have the same voice. Is that better? You sound the exact same.”

Peter lets out a huff of breath at that. He can’t deny it- he’s messed around with voice settings on the suit before but never bothered to permanently give himself a different-sounding voice as Spider-Man. Now he’s paying the price for it. “Maybe.” A slight smile tugs at the corners of Y/N’s lips. “You were ready to be Spider-Man but you didn’t even have an excuse prepared to explain yourself?” Peter feels defensive. “Well, most people don’t actually figure it out. You’re the first, actually. Well, I had to tell Ned but only because he saw me crawling on the ceiling. I didn’t realize he was there, though. I don’t usually crawl on ceilings.”

Peter realizes he’s rambling and does his best to stop talking. Y/N’s smiling at him again, and he feels surprisingly fine about it. “I would hope not. Crawling on ceilings is kind of hard to explain away.” Peter scratches the back of his head, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, that’s kind of why I had to tell him.” Y/N flashes him a grin. “Well, I appreciate the rescue, Peter-Not-Spider-Man. I’ll see you in class?” Suddenly, Peter doesn’t want to leave. “I can walk you home if you like? I hear it’s kind of dangerous out here.” Y/N nods her approval. “Sure thing. Just make sure you put your mask back on first.”

Peter becomes friends with Y/N after that. There’s almost no way not to- she knows the biggest secret of his life, how could they not be friends? Ned is thrilled to find another ‘Friend of Spider-Man’, as he dubs Y/N, and the three of them get along surprisingly well. MJ, too, is glad to see Y/N around, although MJ has yet to discover Peter’s secret. At the rate he’s going, though, Peter has a shifting feeling that she’ll find out soon enough.

It’s after one of his late night patrol rounds that Peter finds himself knocking on Y/N’s window. He’s slumped against the window sill, hand pressed to his side. There was a mass robbery on the East Side, something Peter stupidly thought he could handle without a second thought. He stopped the robbery, that was true, but they’d managed to fire off several shots with some newfangled weaponry that even Tony would have to take a second look at. The result is this: a bloody cut on his side that doesn’t look like it will be going away any time soon.

After a couple of seconds, Y/N throws open her window. She leans out, eyes widening when she sees Peter still dressed in his Spider-Man suit. “What’s going on?” She hisses, then her gaze finds the bloody slit on his side. “What is that?” She glances behind her, as if making sure everyone is asleep, then gestures hurriedly for him to climb through the window after her. “Quick, come in.” Once Peter’s standing in her room, Y/N closes the window, then leans against it, staring at the blood on his hands and the nervous look in his eyes.

“What happened?” Peter grimaces. “Robbery. Bit off a little more than I can chew. Do you have a first aid kit? I think I need to get this bandaged up but if I go home now Aunt May will freak out. I can’t stress her anymore, and I don’t think Ned knows how to stop bleeding.” Y/N shakes her head. “Gotcha. Give me a second, I can grab some supplies.” Y/N heads out of her room, reappearing in a minute or so with a box of bandages and medical supplies held triumphantly in front of her.

She directs Peter to sit on a chair by her desk, and he does so, careful not to get any blood on, well, anything. Y/N takes a seat opposite him, bandages and an antibiotic for disinfecting the wound in her hands. Her brow furrows as she begins to treat the wound, and Peter can’t help but let his gaze linger across the determined look in her eyes, the slight curve of her lips as she focuses on the cut on his side.

After a while she straightens up, and Peter looks away hurriedly, feeling a slight blush heat up his cheeks. “I think that should hold you for a while. You said you had superhuman strength and stuff like that, right? You’ll probably be able to sleep it off.” Peter climbs back through the window, but just before he swings away he turns back, leaning his head through the opening to Y/N’s room. “Thanks a lot, Y/N. I mean it. I can’t think of anyone else I could turn to.” Y/N smiles at him, a smile that seems to light up the whole room. “No problem, Peter. If you’ve got my back, I’ve got yours.”

Peter is certainly grateful for his friendship with Y/N over the next couple of months. He ends up making a couple more stops by her room for help patching up various injuries, and when he has to deal with the aftermath of Tony’s death, she’s always there with some way to hear him out and cheer him up. Honestly, he doesn’t know what he would do without her.

When Peter gets word of the school trip to Europe, he thinks it’s the best thing that could happen to him in a while. Time to himself, with friends, touring interesting places. He’s hoping that a change in scene will finally let him breathe for a second, let him put aside the mask and suit and be Peter Parker once more. However, the appearance of the suit in his suitcase and one Nick Fury convinces him that this trip won’t just be a vacation, however much he wants it. Hopefully, he’ll have time to tell MJ how he feels in between the attacks of the elementals.

MJ. What is Peter supposed to do about MJ? He knows he has feelings for her, that much is obvious. He had a plan, carefully laid out steps that would culminate in Peter telling MJ he loves her and presenting her with a black dahlia necklace. However, as the fights with the elementals grow and grow, he has a feeling that won’t entirely work out. What is he supposed to do now?

He’s confessed his plan to Ned, just to hear another point of view. He told Y/N actually, at a different point in time. She’d seen the necklace and was wondering if he had a sudden taste in jewelry. It was strange, though, the second Peter had told her how he felt about MJ Y/N had gotten this sudden look, like she was shuttering the light in her eyes closed against the world. The sight of her, the smile slipping from her lips, made Peter feel like he’d done something terribly wrong. He just couldn’t figure out what it was. Y/N seemed fine after that, but he did notice that she stopped talking about the dahlia necklace or anything in the plan at all.

Things with the elementals end up going from bad to worse. Peter finds out that the man he thought was his friend, Quentin Beck, was actually the one behind the elementals all along. In fact, the elementals were nothing more than elaborate holograms, and Peter had gone and given Beck control over E.D.I.T.H. in the form of Tony’s glasses. Mr. Stark’s last gift to him, and Peter had tossed it away in a moment of misplaced trust.

It’s not like Peter is alone, though. MJ found out about Peter’s secret identity as Spider-Man, and now she, Y/N, and Ned are figuring out how to take down Mysterio alongside Peter. Peter feels a sudden rush of gratitude as he looks back at his friends. With people like them, people that matter that much to him, Peter feels like he could take on the world. And with Mysterio’s control over E.D.I.T.H., he just may have to.

The battle ends up going surprisingly well. Peter manages to turn the tide on Mysterio, refusing to fall for any of the man’s schemes and tricks. In the end, he is able to wrest control of E.D.I.T.H. away from Mysterio, thus enabling him to remove all of the drones and end the man’s plans once and for all. Now that the fight is over, though, Peter almost doesn’t know what to do.

He finds himself stumbling down Tower Bridge, limping from all of the various injuries he’s managed to obtain during the fight. The first thought in his head is that he should look for Y/N, for the one girl he always turns to whenever he needs help. Then MJ runs out from among the cars, and Peter focuses instead on her. She dashes over to him, throwing her arms around him and telling him that yes, everyone is okay and yes, he saved them all.

Distantly, Peter can see the figures of Ned and Y/N approaching, but it’s alright. They’re his friends, he doesn’t have to worry about pulling his mask back on. Peter pulls away, fishing around in his pocket for the black dahlia necklace. He feels crushed to see that it’s in pieces, but MJ says something about how she likes it better broken. It’s funny, though- Y/N has always been able to fix things. To fix him.

Peter pushes Y/N out of his mind. He’s not thinking about his friend, he’s thinking about MJ. MJ, the girl he loves, the girl who is right in front of him. The girl who’s just leaned forward and kissed him. Peter lets himself kiss her back, lets himself lean into her and block out the rest of the world. There’s the screech of traffic echoing around him from the parts of the city that haven’t yet shut down, and that is what drags Peter back to reality.

They break apart after a few seconds. MJ starts to step away, saying something about how she should probably get going before too many people see familiar Midtown students with Spider-Man. Peter nods, noting that Ned and Y/N have changed direction upon seeing MJ head their way once more. There’s a strange expression on Y/N’s face, a strange emptiness that hadn’t been there before. Peter wants to go run after her, to say something to make that quiet sorrow go away, but his feet feel leaden in place and all he can do is watch as she walks away.

Peter gets back to his hotel room late that night. Ned files in after him, chuckling softly about how his best friend managed to save the day and get with MJ in one go. However, Ned’s face falls as he says this. “Did you really have to kiss her in front of Y/N, though?” Peter frowns over at his friend. “What do you mean?” Ned spreads his hands. “Well, you know, because Y/N likes you. I thought it would be kind of mean to kiss MJ when she was right there.”

Peter feels like the ground is falling away underneath his feet. “Y/N likes me?” Ned nods. “Didn’t you know? She’s had a crush on you for a while now. Sorry, Peter, I thought you knew. I probably shouldn’t have told you that.” Peter waves away his friend’s apology, already heading to the door. Ned’s voice stops him. “You won’t be able to find her. She was scheduled to take an earlier trip home. Remember? It was planned out earlier in the month. She had to make it home early for some family reason, she talked about it on the flight.” Peter remembers this now, and his stomach turns at the thought of Y/N on that plane, all alone and stuck with the picture of him and MJ kissing.

Ned turns away to pack his suitcase, but Peter can’t think about anything productive at all. He’s beginning to realize that he’s made a very big mistake, something he can only hope to undo. There was a reason he hadn’t felt anything when he kissed MJ, when it had been awkward and emotionless. It wasn’t just because they were tired teenagers and didn’t know what to do, it was because he didn’t love her at all. No, the girl Peter loved is on a plane right now, and she thinks that Peter doesn’t care about her when it couldn’t be further from the truth.

What is he supposed to do? Y/N will hate him for this. Somehow, that one thought is enough to motivate him to reach towards his suitcase, to start packing again. He has to make it back, has to find his way home to tell Y/N how he really feels. He can only hope that Y/N will let him stick around long enough to say it.

Y/N doesn’t come to her window for a long time after Peter knocks. He’s almost beginning to think that it’s a lost cause and she’ll never want to speak to him again when the sash gently opens and Y/N leans out. She’s usually used to seeing Peter crouched on her windowsill, but for some reason she startles at seeing him like it’s his first time visiting.

Peter speaks softly, his voice barely louder than the wind. “I think I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life.” Y/N holds up a hand. “I don’t need any explanations. You can do whatever you want, you didn’t have to come by.” Peter shakes his head. “Yes, I did. I know you had feelings for me once. I was kind of hoping that you hadn’t changed your mind about me.”

Peter ends up leaving Y/N’s room much later. He has a grin that he can’t seem to shake, and a bounce in his step that doesn’t fade for hours. He might just have managed to save himself, to convince the girl he loves that she should take a chance and stay with him. Besides, he’s kissed her enough to say a thousand words.

peter parker/marvel tag list: @namoreno, @mycosmicparadise

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #spiderman #spiderman imagines #spiderman x reader #spiderman oneshot #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #mcu #mcu imagines #mcu x reader #mcu oneshot

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acourtofsnakes · 4 years

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Gaa’tayl - Rogue Chapter 4| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: After making your decision, the race is on to try and save Mando’s life. But when things start to go south, a part of you breaks open that you hadn’t let yourself feel for a long time. How will it change you? And how will it shape whats to come?

Warnings: Injury detail/blood, first aid, little bit of swearing, hint of angst? some very faint fluff, pining thoughts because who wouldn’t, it’s Mando

Trigger warnings: beginnings of a panic attack, vicious thoughts, flashback to attempted suicide, personification of depression/negative thoughts using triggering - please be careful, my inbox is always open if you need to talk♥︎

Word count: 5394

AN: This chapters easter egg hint: Can you find the quote originally said by a purple grape with an affinity for shiny stones?👀

Also, gif isn’t necessarily relevant to the main plot of this chapter but... you’ll see why we have hands as a gif.

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo

Mando’a Translation: Gaa'tayl - Help

Blood.

There was blood everywhere.

In your hair, over your clothes.

It was coating your neck and your face. You could taste it. Coppery, hot.

~Screaming was still echoing around the street, heart-wrenching cries of those who had just seen their loved ones forced into the air and torn apart by the explosion. The smell of metal and smoke mixed with the stench of blood and burning flesh.

Blood.

You could taste it.

Your parent’s blood, maybe your own. The taste of it was in your mouth.~

Your heart thundered in your chest as you stared down at the Mandalorian.

You’d been watching him, knowing you needed to decide and then he’d gasped. And just… went still. You felt his blood pulse out under your hands and then he was just quiet.

You couldn’t hear his ragged breathing anymore.

Was he…

~You pushed your hands against your mothers neck, desperate to feel for the pulse that you’d felt for the last 12 years of your life.

Nothing. There was nothing there. She was dead. Your mother. Your sweet, strong mother who sung you lullabies and taught you how to dance… was dead.~

He couldn’t be.

You dared to risk lifting a hand from the jagged hole in his side and pressed your fingertips against his neck. You knew there was a small slither of skin here, you’d seen it yesterday as he leant forward to look at something. You pushed your fingers deeper into the rapidly cooling skin of his neck, waiting. Hoping.

There was nothing.

No, no, there had to be. There had to be something.

You swallowed, calming yourself enough to concentrate. You ducked your head down, like it could help you focus on the skin beneath your fingers.

There.

Some kind of choked noise escaped your lips as you felt his pulse, weak and fluttering, but there. Undiluted fear ran through your veins. This was on you now.

And so, the clock was reset.

You wasted no time, ripping off your cloak and using the length of it wrap around his waist. It was nowhere enough, not enough pressure for a tourniquet or anything even remotely close because of the armour lining his body. However, it would serve to try and soak up some of the blood.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling the Mandalorian to sit up. Then rose into a crouch and hauled him up so you were both standing.

Only to immediately collapse as your knees buckled with the lightning bolts of agony that speared across your ribs. Fuck. Right. Broken ribs. Stars exploded across your vision but you sucked in a deep, painful breath. We’ve dealt with worse. This isn’t about you know. Get up.

You dragged your feet back under you, pulling the Mandalorian up again, holding his weight against your good side.

Prey helping hunter.

In, out. A shallow, slow breath that didn’t hurt quite so much, and then you began to walk, half dragging the Mandalorian along with you. You couldn’t manage any more than a slow walk, your own injuries and pull of his amour and dead weight threatening to drag you down again.

No, no. Not dead. Unconscious. He’s unconscious. Get him to the ship, clean it, spray it with bacta-spray, cauterise it, bind it. That’s all you need to do.

You repeated this like a mantra as you walked back through the street, through those puddles of light.

Get him to the ship, clean it, spray it with bacta-spray, cauterise it, bind it.

You repeated it again and again, even when the skies opened and rain lashed down, loosening your grip on the shiny metal and dragging you both down.

Get him to the ship.

There it was, such a welcome sight you might have cried. You fumbled on the arm that you’d slung around your shoulder, pressing buttons on his vambrace until the ramp opened and soft light and warmth called you inside.

Hunter and prey stumbled up the ramp, and you just got him inside, managed to lay him down in front of a big heavy crate.

You took a moment, darkness threatening to overcome you and a ringing in your ears. You shook your head sharply, pushing it off and then dropped to your knees, looking over his body. The wound was on his side, in between where the front and back plates of his armour were attached.

Thank the Maker. You didn’t know what you would have done if it was closer to his armour. You unsheathed your knife, frantically cleaning it on your damp tunic and then quickly cut away a patch of fabric that was over and around the wound, gritting your teeth when you had to coax the torn threads from the hole.

Which had been acting like a dam. Scarlet blood immediately began to flood from the jagged flesh, soaking the floor below him, your hands.

You blinked, unable to stop staring for a second. How did so much blood come out of someone?

Memories hounded at your shoulders, threatening to drag you under, toward a market square, a dusty floor.

Clean it.

You nodded to yourself, the order in your mind and then scrambled to your feet. A quick search revealed some clean rags and a half full canteen of water. You grabbed the cauteriser and the med-kit on your way back to him, resting it beside you like it was sacred and then you turned to the wound. You wiped your hands on your knees, then dipped the cloth in water, beginning to gently, but quickly dab away the blood.

Bloody water pooled beneath the Mandalorian, so you hurriedly shoved your cloak under him to soak it up so he wouldn’t be lying in water.

Spray it.

Your hands shook as you turned to the little metal box beside you, so much so that it took you 3 attempts to open the latch. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help the exasperated sigh at the rubbish of scraps of bandage that were mere threads, empty wrappers, all littering the top. Really, Mando?

You pawed though the med-kit, turning out empty wrappers and.. nothing else.

What?

There was no bacta-spray. No bandages. Hell, there wasn’t even a needle and thread for you to stitch the damn skin together. All you had was a bunch of wadded up fabric from a rag and some water. Why didn’t this man have any medical supplies? He was a Mandalorian for Maker’s sake. He probably had an injury list to rival yours, yet he didn’t even have so much as a needle?

You groaned, lifting a shaking hand to your face for a moment, breathing shallowly through your nose as another wave of agony seared through your ribs and the old injury in your shoulder.

Your shoulder.

The one that was clean. Bound.

That’s where the last of the medical supplies had gone, used on your own injury when he brought you away from Sorgan.

You looked up at his unconscious form, horror in your expression, in your heart. The wound was weeping still, deep, surely missing vital organs because he would have been dead instantly in that alleyway.

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t risk getting a medic from the town, one because he didn’t have the time, and two because… well, they’d sell you out. Know who you were, the bounty.

Your heart began to beat faster, it usual rhythmic thumps turning frantic, uneven.

It was your fault that there was nothing to save him.

You couldn’t breathe.

Just like it was your fault he had been hurt in the first place.

You couldn’t save him.

Darkness swirled inside you, recognising what was happening to your body.

He was going to die… because of you.

Just like your parents. And everyone else after.

With no warning, you chest constricted, steel bands wrapping around your lungs, crushing them from the inside out with a pain deeper than your cracked ribs. A roaring surged through your ears and suddenly the ship was spinning in circles.

The beast, that poisonous beast that slumbered within you lifted its head, scenting your anxiety and fear and it purred with sick delight. Your spiralling was like a siren call and it crawled up, up, up and that seductive velvety voice that hounded you, began to whisper to you inside your head, “Hello, darling. It’s been a while.”

No. No not again. Not another dead body, not another tally against your name.

“Murderer. Murderer. You killed your parents. You killed your friends. You killed everything even remotely good that’s ever been in your life.”

A sob began to build in your throat, an extra pressure that had you gasping for air, hunching over the floor-

“Look at you, crying. So weak. So pitiful. You deserve every single person that’s ever come after you, deserve every ounce of pain that you’ve been dealt. You call yourself a wolf, but you are a monster.”

It was right. That chasm of fear and darkness that always stayed with you was right. Of course it was. It had been right all those years ago, and the words it was whispering into you like silken poison were true.

“Exactly, my darling. I am born of that savage beast in you, remember? You created me, you formed me from the truth and knowledge that everyone you touch dies. You have tried to deny this part of yourself for so long, darling, so, so long. But you will never escape it. This is your destiny. To kill those that come near you. ”

You shook your head, tears flooding down your cheeks now as you wrapped your arms around your middle. The movement jolted your ribs, but it’s lick of fiery pain barely made it through the agony in your chest. I can run from it. I can escape it, you’re wrong, you’re wrong!! That’s not my destiny. I can make up for it, I can be good, I AM good-

A silken laugh and then a soft sigh, like it almost felt sorry for you, “Dread it. Run from it. Destiny arrives all the same. And now it's here. You have let the Mandalorian get hurt for you, and now he will die.”

No… no. No, not him. He can’t. He saved me, he’s good, I can see it. He has a son. I deserve the death sentence, but not him. Please, someone, anyone. Save him, please save him-

“No one is coming to help you, darling. You have finally done it. You have killed a father whilst his son sleeps just down the hallway.” It purred, caressing the inside of your head with claws, “Give in, darling. It’s time to give in. You eluded my call once before, but that won’t happen this time. Your pretty power won’t save you now, not now you pushed it away. Come to me.. escape the pain, finish what you should have gone through with years ago…”

An irresistible darkness reached out a hand, dropping the memory down onto you before you could stop it.

~~A glass vial, a shimmering poison you stole from the market.

Rain, pounding down around you as you looked up at the moon.

Water, crashing below the rocky outcrop you stood on.

Burning, a feeling like liquid fire inside you as that sweet, shimmering poison slipped down your throat.

I’m sorry.

A final look at the moon, so big and beautiful as you turned around, your heels hanging off the end.

Goodbye.

Wind, rushing past your ears.

The icy crush of water as it devoured your body, pulling you into it’s shadowy depths.

The fire turning molten, slipping through your blood, devouring you as the water has, coaxing you to close your eyes as your body melts from the inside out.

Quiet, a heady quiet as you succumbed to the beast in your chest that was purring with glee.

Nothing.”~~

And then… something echoed within you. Caught the attention of the beast.

“No. Not again.” It’s snarl was predatory, dangerous.

The flashback came easier this time,

~~A hum began to fill the cottony silence in your head, waking you.

This wasn’t right You weren’t supposed to wake up, you were supposed to be free from the pain and the destruction you caused.

Easy, it seemed to whisper, relax. It is not your time yet, you still have much to experience.

Protest flooded your body as you started to feel your limbs again. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to come back. You didn’t deserve to.

“Yes, you do.”, it whispered. “It will be tough, there will be more pain and running, I’m afraid, but it will start a fire within you, that will only grow to serve you. You will triumph over this fear, you will become the warrior that you have always been. There will come a time, when things will change. You will do something you wouldn’t normally do, you will save one that deserves to be saved. Rules will be broken, and something new will be forged. Two lives will be forever entwined. Awaken now, and begin again.”~~

Heat began to envelop you, coaxing your stiff limbs to relax, drawing focus in your mind and making you come back to yourself. The rain beating against the outside of the ship, the smell of blood, two pairs of floppy ears at your side as they looked up at you.

You turned your head, blinking through your tears at the Mandalorian, who’s life was hanging by a single thread.

Your body shuddered as you leant over his unconscious form. A tight feeling curled in your chest, whispering to you.

Let me out. I can save him.

You shook your head, you couldn’t. You’d hidden it away for so long, such a long time. You didn’t even know what to do

Let me out. Let me save him.

You sobbed, a soft noise of defeat, a noise of relief, and you moved your hands to on his side. You whispered out loud, “Save him.” and then… let go

A deep, primal surge took over your body, shaking it, making goosebumps rise to your skin, a feeling lance through your spine. It wasn’t a pain… more a like a release of tension as ever cell in your body thrummed.

You shuddered from head to toe, feeling the cage that you had spent 20 years building shatter like nothing. Just like that. Not forcing its way out, no clawing to be let loose.

It was gentle. It overrode the malignant beast of darkness and despair, smothering it in light.

Powerful, of course, for being shut away for so long but… gentle. It was the energy that roamed through the galaxy, flowed in every single living thing, connected them all together.

It slipped from the cage you had bound it in, humming in delight as it was allowed to join with you again.

Free.

It rolled out of you in waves, rattling the walls, the boxes on the floor.

It made the lights flicker on and off as it bumped up against the walls and the floor.

That power healed your ribs as it poured out of you, and then honed itself, as if knowing you didn’t possess the control that was needed.

It swept down your arms, caressing you like a comforting sweep of a hand, soothing you. You felt it glide over your knuckles, slip along and over the Mandalorian’s body like silk and then…

His wound healed. The ragged flesh knitted back together and the blood seeped back into the Mandalorian’s body where it belonged. It replenished him, saved him, leaving only a red line behind, a scar.

That power, now having done its job, slipped from your body and left you spent. Shattered. With its final act, it whispered a sweet song of sleep and safety to you.

With a soft noise, your eyes fluttered shut and you collapsed forward over the Mandalorian’s now relaxed form.

A caress of your hair began to coax you from your slumber.

Long fingers, pushing into your hair at the crown of your head, and trailing through slowly all the way over to the back of your neck.

You hummed softly, shifting your head because the pillow beneath you was hard and cold.

The hand stopped and the next drag of fingers through your hair was slower, hesitant in a way. When the fingers brushed over your neck, you melted, a sigh drawing from your lips.

You didn’t want this to end, especially when those same fingers caressed your face, brushing the strands away and you felt them tug slightly, as if lifting a piece of your hair, memorising the colour and the softness of it.

It was safe here. You could relax. It was warm and cosy, even if the pillow beneath you was hard. And smelt faintly of metal. Weird. Oh well. You nuzzled against the coolness, humming again.

Somewhere above you, there was what sounded like a soft chuckle. A caress of your forehead that trailed down the bridge of your nose. It traced over the swoop of your lips and then along your jaw, like they were mapping your features. The touch was so tender, so sweet that it almost bought tears to your eyes. You had been alone for so long, so very long and almost every encounter you had was violent.

People didn’t touch you to be kind. They touched you to kill you.

A thudding impact of knuckles instead of a warm arm around your shoulders.

The sting of a knife edge at your throat instead of soft lips trailing over your skin.

Ropes and cuffs digging into your wrists instead of familiar fingers linking through your own.

It wasn’t even a sexual or heated touch that you missed, it was anything. You craved it, the tender familiarity of someone using touch to tell you how much you meant to them, that they cared about you.

And this… this phantom tracing of your features spoke of a touch that was almost a little unsure. A touch that was mapping something for the first time, drawing attention to the tiny little features you didn’t even know you had, but someone was admiring and drinking in. It was a little hesitant, a little shy but… achingly sweet.

Outside of this haze, something started to call to you, coaxing you to open your eyes. Your eyelids fluttered, your head clearing as you moved and the hand was then gone.

No, you wanted to whisper. Don’t stop.

It might have been hours later, but you became aware of the noises of the Razor Crest. The familiar hum of engines and instruments. You could distantly hear Grogu’s happy cooing as he played with Duru. Right beneath your head, you could hear steady breathing, muffled slightly by a helmet.

By a helmet.

Your head snapped up, eyes widening as you stared down at the floor.

Mando was breathing. Deep, even and steady intakes of air that lifted his chest, filtering through his lungs.

You made a soft noise, looking down at his side. You picked up the blanket and peered at the ragged tear in his underclothes.

Nothing.

The stab wound in his side was gone. Healed.

You’d done it… You saved him.

You slumped back, rubbing your hands over your face with a soft sigh of relief. You were shaking all over though and you felt… unhinged in some way. Almost painfully exposed. You had broken something, something inside you that had taken years to build.

The only way you were able to survive was by shutting away that part of you, that pure, natural power that you could still feel echoing in your bones.

And the constant pain that you had was gone, no more tightly wound tension now that it had been freed.

It had to go back in, had to be built into a cage that was stronger, more impenetrable. You didn’t know why it had taken a man who you don’t really know, bleeding out in front of you to rise from the ashes.

A man who you killed for without second thought. You always through yourself into a fight with no hesitation, but last night, or earlier or whenever it was, you had fought differently.

That wasn’t a frantic dance of survival, where your life was the crescendo and Death was the orchestra. No, that had been precision. Cunning.

You had shed the claws and snarl, grown fangs and poison. Wolf to Viper.

The bounty had been your prey. You struck, and you killed.

For a man you didn’t even really know.

You swallowed, scratching at the itchiness of your face. Stop. Do not even go there. Don’t. At least not yet.

Red flakes fell from your face, reminding you of the layer of grime and blood that was dried onto your skin.

Right. You needed a shower.

You checked back on Mando, satisfied that he was okay and then you went off for a shower and to potentially drown yourself.

You returned a short while later, carrying a bowl of warm water, a small towel over your arm and a canteen of water tucked into the crook of your elbow. The dark creature in you was silent, oddly silent and you wondered if it would remain that way.

Best not dwell on it and encourage it to wake back up.

You picked your way across the floor around storage boxes and tubs of things to where you’d left Mando.

To find him sitting up, grunting a little at the apparent stiffness in his lips. His head snapped up when he heard you, his body relaxing, “You weren’t there when I woke up, I didn’t know if something had happened to you.”

You couldn’t help the slight chuckle as you reached his side, sitting down next to him against the crate and setting out all the things you’d brought with you. “Easy… I had to have a shower, I couldn’t even recognise my own face with all the blood and dirt on it.”

He leant back against the crate behind you, watching you, “I know.. I stirred a couple hours ago and nearly had a heart attack. I thought… You were passed out next to me and I couldn’t reach you to see if you were breathing, I was too stiff. I thought..” He seemed to swallow back his next words, his hands tightening into fists on the blanket now on his lap.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, that raw honesty in his rasp. He’d thought you had died.

Just like you thought he had.

A certain atmosphere settled around you, getting tighter and feeling… different. You could feel the heat rolling off of him through your chilled bones, even with the layer of beskar over his body.

You cleared your throat and held out the canteen. “Here. I bought you some water.”

Mando reached out to take the water from you, gloved fingers brushing yours and you noticed the blood that had soaked into them was dry now. “I never pegged you for the healing type.”

Honey, you have no idea.

You laughed, shrugging, “You live a life like mine, you end up getting battered more times than you can remember. I’ve had to fix myself up so many times, you were a walk in the park.” You grinned, teasing him but your expression was strained. You could still taste his blood.

You cleared your throat again and reached beside you for the bowl of water before placing it between you “I found some gloves upstairs when I was looking for a towel… I didn’t know if you’d want to change them.” You bit your lip, eyes flicking over the helmet, that tension still there, lingering. Then you remembered. “Oh, shit. Sorry.” You turned around, facing your back to him to give him privacy.

There was nothing for a few moments, and then you heard the bowl drag closer to him. There was a soft tug of friction, leather sliding over skin and dropping to the floor.

Your spine tightened slightly, knowing that his bare skin wasn’t far off. You could never turn around though, you wouldn’t do that to him. It didn’t stop your breathing from turning shallow, and you just prayed he couldn’t hear it.

Water splashed, and suddenly, an unbidden image burst in your head. Mando’s bare hands, dipping into the warm water, rubbing the washcloth over his palms and knuckles. Beads of water sliding down his fingers and the bare, smooth skin of his wrist. Was his skin tan? Smooth or scarred? You wondered if he had any freckles on his hands. Perhaps not, if they were in gloves all the time. Did he take them off when he was truly aloe? Let the golden light of the sun kiss over his knuckles…

What.

The fuck.

Was that.

Your eyes widened as you looked into the corner of the room, heat flushing your neck and chest. Why, in all the stars had that popped into your head? This man had been on death’s door, you had saved him, turned yourself inside out and now you were mooning over the sound of him cleaning his hands? Get a grip, girl.

“Done. You can turn around..” His voice floated over to you, soft and you waited a few moments before you turned back to face him, praying the dimness of the cargo hold was enough to hide your flush. “Thank you.”

You shook your head, taking the dirty gloves now that the other clean ones were on his hands. “Oh, no, you don’t need to thank me. They were just gloves.” You couldn’t look at him, instead laying the gloves down, resting them both on top of each other so that the fingers and thumbs matched up.

Mando shook his head, “No… not for the gloves. I mean – yes, for the gloves too but… For saving me. You didn’t need to, but you did. You could have walked right past, but you fought that asshole, you killed him, for me. And then you saved me..” His voice was still rough, and that atmosphere flickered again, encouraging you to raise your eyes to him.

He titled his head, a hand drifting to his side, “Speaking of which… How?”

You blinked, fought to keep your expression even, “How what?”

Mando’s head remained tilted, “How did you save me? I looked earlier when I woke up but… there was only a scar there. Like it was weeks old, not hours.”

You’d already thought this moment in the refresher, “Oh, that. Uh, I had some bacta-spray left over in my bag. I kept it for emergencies…” You kept your voice casual, pausing now and then as if thinking it over. Expect this part, you didn’t need to feign the quieter tone, “My mother taught me which leaves and flowers could be used for healing, to speed up healing times. My… father worked a rough job and sometimes he would come home with deep cuts and bruises and mumma would always fix them…” You cleared your throat, “I had some left over too.” Your skin felt hot, uncomfortable. You hadn’t intended to share past the point of, “to speed up healing times,” but something about his silence had felt encouraging.

He was still watching you, and you had no idea if he believed you or not. However, his voice was softer as he simply said, “Thank you. I didn’t deserve it, for what I’ve done. I’m forever.”

“Ooh.. You would have done the same for me, I’m sure...” You laughed a little but it was uneasy, unsure where this was going, that tone in his voice and the intensity of his words. You remained focused on your task of playing with the gloves, that courage that sung through your blood everyday had vanished, leaving you unable to look at him, even if you could feel the visor of the helmet boring into you.

He leant forward and seconds later, freshly gloved fingers tilted your chin up so you had to look at him, “Exactly. I would have. I did, that’s why he hurt me… so...” He reached behind him, for one of those many pockets and pouches on his body, fumbling for something.

You frowned, tilting your head, “What are you doing? You’ll pull at your wound-“

Mando pulled something out from his back, holding them out to you and presenting them like a fucking prize.

Your bounty puck. And the tracking fob.

What the fuck was he doing?

You jerked back out of his touch, the wolf snarling in you as your eyes flicked up to him, “Seriously? You’re bringing that up? We just went through all of that, and you’re coming back to a fucking bounty puck? I knew I was just a bounty, but you could have waited until you could walk at least.” Your voice was a snarl, but benath that… a hurt.

He made a soft noise, shaking his head as he once again read what you were thinking, that you had misunderstood. “No, no, I don’t mean that…” He took a breath, and then he gently pulled your hand so it was palm up. And placed the tracking fob and the puck in them. He closed your fingers over them, his voice so soft that the modulator almost didn’t filter it through “Destroy them.”

You jerked in surprise, your breathing catching in shock, anger fizzling out of your body as quick as it had crashed into you, “What? Mando, this… the money it would get you... I can’t.” You tried to push it back to him, to get him to take it. It meant a lot to you, of course it did but he was being ridiculous. “I’m just your bounty.” You hadn’t meant to repeat it, it just slipped out. It wasn’t like it was a lie though. You were. Even though you doubted he had ever had his bounty save his life before.

You were surprised to hear a soft growl rumble in his throat, “Stop it.” He kept his gloved hand wrapped around yours, heat leeching through the leather and into your skin. “You were, in the beginning. But as soon as I heard that asshole talking like that about you…” He shook his head, swallowing his words yet again though they reminded honest, “You saved my life. That means something to me, especially in my culture. A lot of people would have left me there to die. But you didn’t… And I apologise for everything I’ve done. If you’ll forgive me and let me, I’d like to help you.”

Well. Fuck. That was the last thing you expected. He… wanted to help you? What did that mean? What could he do for you? You bit your lip, toying with the idea, staring down at the devices in your hand.

You’d been alone for so long. Maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe you could… let him. But the way everyone seemed to die around you… you only had to look at tonight as proof enough.

He shouldn’t do this, it was a mistake.

You looked up, lips parting to form the words that would push him away, make him realise you were saving him from making a mistake.

Only for him to read you like a damn book again. He plucked the bounty puck and tracking fob from your hand, grasping them in his fist and then with a soft grunt, slammed them into the solid floor beneath you both. They instantly cracked, sputtering a little almost like shock and then completely shattered when he slammed his fist down on them again.

Mando made sure they were destroyed, then looked back at you and you could have sworn you could almost see the cocky eyebrow raise under the bucket on his head.

You surveyed him, looked down at the remains on the floor.

The symbol of hunter and prey destroyed.

You took in a deep breath, lifting your chin and meeting the beskar gaze of the man ahead of you, your threads of your lives somehow more entwined. “Okay. I accept your apology… and your help.”

Would he be the first person that didn’t succumb to your curse?

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #TW #Trigger warning

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canon-notcanon-warriorcats · 3 years

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Wait no but Goosefeather being a lowkey protective dad knowing that Frostfur probably ends up with Lionheart. Just imagine: Frostpaw going up to her dad (idk if she knows he's her dad in this AU but.. Lemme have this) and speaking highly of Lionpaw/heart and Goosefeather just shrugs and goes "... He's okay"

i know this was sent 5 days ago, but i love this

also: frostkit and brindlekit being kits he had with someone outside of thunderclan and he takes them in saying they were a sign from starclan that thunderclan will thrive

"brindlekit looks weirdly a lot like you... and frostkit looks a lot like snowfur, your niece?"

"merely a coincidence"

GASP

SAGEWHISKER BEING THEIR MOM

THE KITS OF TWO MEDICINE CATS

SAGEWHISKER MAKING THE SAME "mistake" AS YELLOWFANG LITERALLY JUST A LITTLE BIT AFTER HER

GOOSEFEATHER KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN SINCE HE AND SAGEWHISKER WERE APPRENTICES AND TAKING RESPONSIBILITY FOR THEM KNOWING THAT HE WOULDN'T FACE CONSEQUENCES SINCE HE COULD MORE EASILY GET AWAY WITH IT BEING A TOM

robinwing being the one to nurse them cause she and fuzzypelt lost a litter just a day or two before and when snowfur dies robinwing is just like "yes give me whitekit too, fostering these babies is the only thing keeping me from grieving to death right now"

this is now canon in my rewrite now, it literally changes nothing but it's canon now

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mallowstep · 3 years

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i literally havent been able to stop thinking about the wbcd thing, its so needed in the series. how do you decide which cats die when? do you weigh eventual offspring when deciding, like thornkit/claw eventually having four kits while lynxkit obviously having none? will "important" canonical deaths like swiftpaw, brindleface, etc count towards the death count for the season, or will those types of things be bonus deaths?

figured i'd answer this b4 i went to bed!

i need to scrub the wbcd posts from my queue and rewrite them up to a higher standard, but i'm going to keep the outcomes the same. i've gotten the hang of things now.

anyway, this is all done in one notebook, and the way i do it for wbcd is a little Special. (i've done similar things for fan-ish clans to make sure the numbers work out. they do, generally. sometimes you have bad luck.)

but wbcd doesn't account for moving to the elders' den, increased death rates because of moving to the elders' den, and i don't think i was doing double rolls (i'll explain) last time i queued the posts.

(it's a bit of a mess rn is why i need to scrub and rewrite. or maybe start a(nother) sideblog for it? just for my own sanity?)

anyway.

i've done this out a few times, and i've decided writing shit out by hand is best. maybe i just have no restraint and overcomplicate shit when i start typing, and someone else could make it work.

so first up, determining leader lives: i literally knock off 2/book. if i'm doing something for a fanclan, i generate numbers the same way i do for litters, a normal distribution with mean 2 and standard deviation 4. N(2, 16) if you want to be fancy. i've considered lowering the standard deviation, but i like the swingy-ness of it. (i also permit "gaining" lives to account for this. it's a little hokey, but it makes leaders live for the Right amount of time.)

deputies have a 1/10 chance of dying every season. all of my numbers, here, are estimations based on my initial calculations, then smoothed out to a number that easily goes into 100. again, i do wbcd in batches, and my methodology has changed slightly, so it's possible i was still not rolling for deputies.

seers/medicine cats (seer = 4 letters, and i'm writing by hand, also it fits the Aesthetics of the idea) have a 1/20 chance in dying. i don't usually bother rolling for them, though, because their deaths uh. don't matter? bc wbcd follows canon timeline, i can kill them for drama as needed.

as for warriors, they have a 1/25 chance in dying every season. i believe i calculated the odds for 1/10 living to 40 seasons and 1/3 living to 40 seasons, and then found a number that was easy to remember in between. because i don't track elders in wbcd, no one ever actually retires, but when i do this for other things, i give elders 1/10 chance of dying. just to make sure they don't stack up.

but! wbcd is special because i don't just roll and move on. what i do is, i roll for every warrior, and then i shuffle deaths. did whitestorm die, but i need him to live long enough to be firestar's deputy? well, XYZ is right there not doing anything, why not kill them instead?

and so on.

there's certainly a bit of favouritism going on: when i decided to kill barley, it Hurt me a Lot. but it needed to be done.

the factors that go into my decision are about what their death does to the future. killing whitestorm before he becomes firestar's deputy is frustrating to the plot in ways i didn't want to deal with. killing darkstripe early does nothing.

so non-canon characters (i don't want to say ocs, bc it's more lynxkit, ravenpaw & barley, etc) have a higher risk of dying, because their deaths, well, by their nature their deaths Cannot change the plot.

but that's not the same as offspring. see, blossomfall and thornclaw's kits are very, very, very minor. stemleaf is the only one who matters, and i can easily work around that.

so important canonical deaths do count in the seasonal tally, because the numbers are supposed to be high for drama. the only exception to this is that i rolled really well for the season of the great battle, so i ended up using my litter size generator for an extra number of deaths. i'd do this again for a time when there was that kind of Big Event Death if i rolled "too well."

now, you didn't ask about this, but i want to be thorough: how do i do kits and apprentices?

okay, apprentices are my favourite part, because they're the only group that has dynamic odds. uh, i'm going to say seasons, but what i mean is, when i'm on my leafbare page, i then roll to see who lives through newleaf, and i call that the newleaf roll. i know it's confusing, that's just the convention i started with.

so anyway, seasonal odds of death for apprentices

newleaf: 0/1 greenleaf: 1/10 leaffall: 1/5 leafbare: 1/10

if you recall my overall apprentice odds, this might seem odd, but you have to remember that "leaffall" really means "1 out of 5 apprentices dies every greenleaf."

i've considered flipping this, but for reasons i'll explain in kits, having the newleaf "palette cleanser" means that the warmer months aren't as brutal as they seem.

so for kits: when there's a litter born in a season, i don't do anything. if there are multiple, i try to space them out. there's not like. a reason for this, other than helping me keep the numbers straight.

for seasons with no litters, i generate a litter size and pick a queen who's "free."

the litter size generated is N(3, 9), or mean 3, standard deviation 3. negative numbers mean nothing here, and there's a fair amount of Large Litters. it would be realistic to split those up, but that takes a Lot of time and bookkeeping.

anyway, generated litters usually have no father, because you know. keeping things moving here. i pick a free queen, which basically means:

the queen whose next canon litter and last litter in wbcd are furthest away.

this is a balancing act, and i usually favour not giving a couple an early litter before their first canon litter. but if, say, willowpelt needs to have a litter in two seasons, even if she could have two litters back to back, i don't like doing that.

so i might find someone who has had their last canon litter and give them an extra one, or someone who's a while away from their next litter.

for generated litters, i give them an extra roll. because i disregard negatives, litter sizes trend larger than intended, so an extra first roll keeps them down. all rolls for kits are 1/5 odds of death.

but if i roll a 5, i circle the bullet point, and roll twice next season. this is because 4/5 * 4/5 is 0.64, which is more than my ideal survival rate of 0.50. add in another 4/5, for the bonus roll, and you drop to 0.512. the occasional extra rolls sends some kits down to 0.40 survival rating.

one day, i will figure out what those odds are to see if my numbers are still accurate, but having played this scenario out pretty far, i think it works.

i also employ the double roll for apprentices. hence having no rolls in leafbare means i can sort of. stop anything from cycling over.

if u have more questions about the mechanics/my process behind this, let me know. i hope i explained everything clearly, but it's all basically scribbled in a single notebook that i actually need to dig out so i can fix things.

thanks for asking! i'll be out with more wbcd content soon.

#thinking of making a sideblog for it #that way i can shuffle my queue with impunity #ask #yee-hawlw #love ur url by the way #mine #txt #essay

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lifeofkaze · 3 years

Text

When Stars Ignite - Chapter 11

HPHM Rockstar AU

A/N: As always, the lovely KC (only in mention) belongs to the beautiful @kc-and-oc . Thank you for everyone holding my blushing little hand through this and listening to me whine about it. Also thank you for all the ones providing me with research information 👀. You know who you are! 💛

General Warning: This whole fic has a general warning of being NSFW / 18+. We will give specific warnings for every chapter in itself, but several adult themes will be more or less present in every chapter, may it be explicitly or in mention. These include sexual topics, drug abuse, (ab)use of alcohol, smoking and a whole lot of cursing.

Specific Warning: Langague, depiction of alcohol consumption, depiction of drug abuse, graphic depiction of explicit NSFW content - do NOT read if under the age of 18!

~~~

Find the masterpost here, the previous chapter here and the next one here. The songs featured before every chapter can be found on this pretty badass playlist here.

~~~

This work is a collaboration with @the-al-chemist

Taglist: @slytherindisaster @night-rhea @carewyncromwell

And we were trying different things

We were smoking funny things

Making love out by the lake to our favorite song

Sipping whiskey out the bottle, not thinking 'bout tomorrow

Singing Sweet home Alabama all summer long

~ Kid Rock - All Summer Long ~

~ 10 months prior ~

It had been an unusually hot day, even for the middle of August. The heat hazes over the scalding hot streets were omnipresent, and people everywhere were trying to find some relief from the burning sun.

Lizzie loved every second of it.

She didn’t mind the high temperatures at all and relished the warmth on her skin as she stepped outside the old house in Kensington. It belonged to Ethan Parkin and Equinox had been keeping their rehearsal rooms in his converted cellar ever since Lizzie could remember.

They had just finished a long day of putting together the last details for their upcoming European tour. It had taken them all day until everyone had been satisfied with the results. Finally outside again, Lizzie intended to make the most out of the remaining hours of daylight.

It had suited her just fine when Orion had mentioned the poetry slam happening just around the corner of where he was living. He had invited all of them to come, but all except Lizzie had already made plans for the evening. Skye had wanted to come as well, but after receiving a text, she had abruptly changed her mind again.

So now it was only the two of them riding on the West Kensington tube station towards Gloucester Road. Orion was casually carrying a huge bag containing one of his guitars over his shoulder.

“Why are you taking that with you?” Lizzie asked him curiously. “You usually keep them in the rehearsal room.”

“Everything has its time, may it be little or large. The time of the strings on this guitar are almost over; I need to replace them,” Orion said. “I don’t have any suitable ones at the rehearsal room though. I’ll just drop the guitar off at home and we’ll be on our way again.”

They had just hopped onto the Circle Line that would take them to Notting Hill; Orion watched her from across his seat. “Why do you look so surprised?”

Lizzie tilted her head to one side. “In all these years, none of us has ever been at your place before. Except for Merula, of course,” she added matter-of-factly.

They were about to reach Notting Hill Gate and Orion motioned for her to get up. “Then it’s about time.”

They had to walk a bit from the tube station to the house where Orion was living. Although it took them about fifteen minutes to get there, Lizzie didn’t even notice. They passed through bustling streets, several of them lined with market stalls selling food and curious little trinkets. The colourful terraces and fronts that made Nottinghill so famous brightened Lizzie’s mood even further.

She and Orion were talking about all kinds of things, the band, the tour, the fact that Lizzie had never been to a poetry slam before; something, Orion told her, they would definitely need to change.

When they arrived at their destination, Lizzie dipped her head back and looked up at the brightly painted front of the old house. It was bigger than the ones surrounding it and Lizzie presumed it was made up of several flats.

“Are you coming?” Orion called over to her; he was waiting in the doorway, holding the door open for her.

Lizzie smiled as she followed him into the cool darkness of the stairwell. “I just thought this place fits you.”

He laughed softly as he climbed the stairs behind her. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s a mix of so many different things,” Lizzie explained, “traditional, but also free-spirited and unconventional, old-fashioned and modern at the same time; just like you.”

She heard Orion laugh again. “Well, if you think so.”

They walked right to the top floor, where two dark blue doors branched off the landing. Orion unlocked the one on the left and stepped aside to let her enter his flat first.

Lizzie found herself standing in one huge, sun-filled room; her eyes were immediately drawn to the big skylights in the bare brick walls through which the light was filtering in. It was a lot tidier than she would have expected from someone with as much creative energy as Orion. But even though the furniture was pretty minimalistic, the room seemed to breathe Orion’s energy.

Everywhere she looked Lizzie could see something that was so inherently him; a half-finished travel book on India, a bowl full of colourful crystals, a small dreamcatcher hanging over his bed in the far corner of the room. Almost every free surface was occupied by plants of all forms and sizes; they added a pleasant pop of colour to the otherwise neutral toned place.

Everything Orion needed on a daily basis seemed to be in the room Lizzie was standing in right now; the only thing she was surprised to notice was the total lack of anything to do with music. While she kept her main drum kit at their rehearsal room when they weren’t on tour, she had a smaller one over at her own place, as well as some other percussion and a guitar for when she felt like a change.

Her unasked question was answered when Orion walked past her into an adjacent room Lizzie hadn’t noticed before, his guitar still strung over his shoulder. Curious, she followed behind and had to chuckle when she saw the reason why there were no traces of Orion’s love for music in the main room.

The whole second room of his flat had been turned into some kind of home studio. All of their awards and golden records were hung on the walls, alternating with several old guitars. All of them seemed to be in pristine condition.

On Lizzie’s left side was a huge table that was littered with notebooks, plectrums and a simple switchboard she assumed Orion used for recordings. What piqued her interest was located on the other side of the room, however; all the instruments featured in their band were set up there, including a worn looking, blue drum kit, almost similar to the one she had at home for practising.

Lizzie smiled and stepped closer to it as Orion deposited his guitar on the worktable. She ran her hand over the floor tom, one of the horizontally mounted drums. Something about it felt oddly familiar.

“Do you remember it?”

Lizzie looked up from the drums and saw Orion leaning against the doorframe, watching her. “You should, it’s the one you used on our first tour. The label let me have it for practically nothing.”

The memory made her smile and she tapped her fingers against the slightly worn drum head in a quick, alternating rhythm. “Why am I not surprised at all that you’re using half of your place for making music?”

He mirrored her smile. “Passion is like a living thing, it needs room to breathe and be free if it wants to thrive. Did you think I made up all the instrument parts for our songs only in my head?”

Lizzie picked up one of the drumsticks and flipped it, laughing as she caught it again. “And your neighbours are okay with you running your one-man band up here?”

“So far, no one has complained,” Orion grinned before pushing himself off the wall. He motioned to her to follow him. “Come on, the studio’s great but I want to show you the best part of this place.”

She followed him back into the other room, where he led her to one of the huge skylights. Lizzie noticed the steep, rickety looking steps beneath it. Orion reached up and undid the latch before quickly climbing upwards and vanishing through the window.

When she didn’t follow immediately, his head popped back into view. “What’s wrong?”

Lizzie eyed the steps sceptically. “These don't look really trustworthy.”

Orion laughed and extended his hand to her. “Don’t you trust me?” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Or are you scared?”

“As if,” Lizzie snorted indignantly and climbed up after him, completely ignoring his offer for help.

Her momentary flare of stubborness died as quickly as it had come when she stepped past Orion and out onto a beautiful terrace, set back into the roof of the building. It wasn’t a particularly large space, but it was more than enough for a sunchair, a set of lounge chairs and a table. A huge parasol protected the area from the sun, but even so it was burning hot up here. The ground was laid with wooden floorboards and several chains of fairy lights and small lampions were fixed to the walls or wound about the railing of the sunshade.

Not one to be intimidated by the heat, Lizzie walked over to the wrought iron railing and leaned over it, admiring the breathtaking view stretching out in front of her. The skyline of London was glittering in the sunlight and she could make out the sea of green that was Kensington Gardens.

“Wow,” she breathed, “the view is fantastic.”

She heard Orion chuckle from somewhere behind her. “It is.”

Lizzie’s eyes fell to the many plant pots lining the length of the terrace. Like the plants inside, they added something peaceful to the atmosphere; she had never known Orion was so into gardening.

She ran her finger over the leaves of one of them. “Who’s taking care of these when we’re on tour?”

“My neighbour,” Orion answered, “she knows her way around plants. She is teaching botany at Queen Mary University.”

Lizzie had spotted a very familiar looking specimen with distinctly pinnate leaves. She turned to Orion with a grin. “And your professor neighbour is alright with watering this illegal little fellow here?”

Orion laughed. “She’s very liberal on the matter, really. Where do you think I got it from?”

“All for scientific reasons, I presume.”

“It does open the mind to a new level of creativity,” Orion shrugged, making Lizzie laugh out loud.

“That sounds so much like you. No wonder I don’t get the lyrics half the time.”

Lizzie stepped back from the railing and wandered over to the sunchair. The heated surface bit into the bare skin of her legs as she lounged into it, but she enjoyed the warmth as soon as the initial pain subsided.

“I can definitely see why this is your favourite place,” she sighed, “I could just stay here all day.”

“The poetry slam doesn’t start for another hour,” Orion said, “and it’s not far from here, so we don’t have to go just yet. Do you want a drink or something?”

Lizzie turned her head and shaded her eyes with her hand. “I like the sound of that.”

***

One glass of ice cold white wine turned into two, and then turned into a number Lizzie couldn’t possibly remember anymore. The sun had long gone down and the poetry slam had started ages ago, but they were still sitting on Orion’s rooftop terrace with no intention of going anywhere anytime soon.

With the sun gone, the air had grown cooler; the floor and walls were heated by the day’s sun, but Lizzie had found herself hugging her bare knees, shivering just a little. Orion had gone back inside to bring her something to keep her warm; he had come back with a plain black hoodie that she had gratefully accepted. Orion was much taller than Lizzie was, however and so the sweater hung loose around her shoulders and went down past beneath her hips. Lizzie had to roll up the sleeves several times until her hands were free again, but she was glad for the extra warmth it provided.

It didn’t surprise her that Orion didn’t grow the weed plant out of sheer botanical interest; accompanying the wine, they were sharing a joint with a mixture he had created himself. Lizzie couldn’t tell if she was primarily drunk or high at this point, the only thing she knew was that she had never in her life seen anything so fascinating as the fairy lights reflected in her wine glass.

“Like teeny tiny fireflies,” she giggled as she twirled the glass between her fingers, delighted by the way the light sparkled in the cold drink.

“I think you’ve caught a bit too much,” Orion chuckled but handed her the joint back anyway. Although he had been wearing a very detached grin on his face for the last half an hour or so, he wasn’t nearly as giddy as Lizzie; but then again, he was probably much more used to smoking than she was.

“And besides,” he continued, holding his own glass up against the lights, “they’re clearly little stars; how can you not see that?” His face grew pensive. “A whole, tiny wine glass galaxy.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Lizzie declared firmly. She lounged deeper into her armchair and took a deep drag. She dipped her head back and slowly blew the smoke into the air; the way it made the lights hazy was really pretty. “And it’s called a teacup galaxy.”

“Aren’t we all galaxies in our own teacups, in one way or another?”

Lizzie hummed in response. “In that case, I’d actually prefer the wine glass.”

She closed her eyes and let the sensation of the cushions in her back envelope her for a moment. From somewhere in the neighbourhood music was drifting up to them; from what she could hear, it sounded tropical, Caribbean maybe. Her thoughts being deliciously hazy, Lizzie could just imagine not being on a rooftop in London, but on a beautiful beach somewhere far, far away.

She smiled to herself; there could be worse company on a tropical island than Orion. The smile turned into a smirk as she thought about the many different tattoos she knew were decorating his well-toned upper body; she could most definitely imagine having worse company.

Indulging the idea of lounging in the warm sand with a drink and the rushing of the waves in the air a few moments longer, a sudden thought struck her and she sat upright.

“I just had the most brilliant idea.”

Surprised by her unexpected outburst of energy, Orion almost dropped his glass. “I told you smoking broadens the mind,” he said after regaining his composure. “What is it?”

“We should so change our tour display. It’s boring.”

A mixture of intrigue and scepticism showing on his features, Orion tilted his head. “So your suggestion would be?”

Excited by her flash of genius, Lizzie placed her now empty glass on the table between them and leaned forward. “Two words: steel drums.”

Orion didn’t say anything for a moment, a crease forming on his forehead. Then, he broke into a dazzling smile. “That must be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“I know, right? But it gets even better.”

“How could it get better than steel drums? More steel drums?”

Lizzie contemplated that possibility for a moment but discarded it quickly. “No, I don’t think so.” Her eyes lit up as she thought about her idea. “But you and Ev could totally play ukulele.”

Orion sighed. “Totally.”

A thought seemed to cross his mind. “But I’m not sure Ev can play the ukulele.”

Lizzie was dismayed by this. “I thought if you can play the guitar you can automatically play the ukulele.”

“If you want to call what Ev does playing.”

She had to snort with laughter at Orion’s dry tone. “We’ll just replace him with KC, she’s the prettier one anyway.” The thought of KC performing a hula dance on stage had her laugh even harder.

“There’s a problem though,” Orion broke her out of her entertaining thoughts.

“What’s that?”

“You can’t play the steel drums.”

“Who says that I can’t?”

“Well, can you?”

“I can learn,” Lizzie replied stubbornly. “How hard can that be? You only have one steel drum and I have... “ She frowned as she was trying and failing to envision her drum kit in her head. “How many drums do I have? I can’t remember.”

“More than one, in any case,” Orion laughed and extended his hand towards her empty glass. “You go think about that, and I’ll get you a refill.”

Lizzie was quicker though, snatching the glass out of his reach and getting up. “Don’t worry, I can go myself.”

She walked towards the skylight leading back into the flat but had underestimated the effect of both the drugs and the alcohol on her body. Shaking her head a little, Lizzie took a moment to steady herself.

Just when she thought she had found her balance again, her foot caught in the wire of one of the fairy lights. She stumbled forward with a jolt, ripping the plug right out of its socket and plunging a good portion of the rooftop into darkness.

Luckily for her, Orion didn’t feel the effects of their smoke as much as she did. His reaction time was still quick enough to catch her before she could hit the ground. She could hear the breath leaving his lungs as she collided with his chest; at least he was softer than the floorboards would have been.

He laughed as she straightened up again. “Careful, drummer girl, that was close.”

Lizzie tilted her head as she looked up at him curiously. “You’re close.”

Only now realising their position, Orion mumbled an apology and started to move away from her but Lizzie was quicker. She had already scrambled up onto the seat next to him, still feeling a little dizzy. Her feet were resting on the arm of the lounge chair, her legs lying draped across Orion’s thighs.

“No, it’s alright,” she giggled and leaned against him, “you’re more comfortable than my chair anyway.”

Leaning towards the table to retrieve Orion’s glass, Lizzie’ head started spinning again and she had to grip his shoulder for support. She was glad when she felt Orion’s arm come around her back for added support.

“And besides,” she held the glass up triumphantly before bringing it to her lips, “that way, it’s easier to share this.”

They were sitting like that for a while, Lizzie leaning against Orion’s chest, her head nestled into the crook of his neck, while he had his arms around her. The music she had been hearing earlier was still playing, faintly carrying up towards them. Lizzie had her eyes closed, alternating between listening to the upbeat melody and the calm rhythm of Orion’s heartbeat.

Now that she was relaxing, she became increasingly aware of the combined effects of the many glasses of wine and the spliff they had relit again. She felt as if she was floating through a haze on the soft sound of the steel drums, as if she could fly right into the night sky until she was surrounded by a glittering sea of stars.

The only thing anchoring her was Orion, the steady rising and falling of his chest, the ends of his hair brushing against her cheek when he moved, the touch of his fingers against hers when he handed her back the wine they were sharing.

Her head was spinning and she hooked her finger underneath one of Orion’s woven bracelets, as if the physical holding on to him could prevent the rooftop from revolving around her. The breathy sigh leaving her lips turned into a giggle.

“I don’t know what you’ve put in that stuff but, damn, it packs a punch.”

Orion chuckled, the hand around her back playing with a strand of her ponytail; she had to laugh as he tickled her neck with the ends of it. “There’s nothing out of the ordinary in there.”

She leaned a little away from him so as to better see his face. “So, what is it? Spill it!”

His smile turned into a smirk. “Who am I to tell you all my secrets? A little mystery only adds to the fun.”

Intrigued by his evasiveness, Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

A curious expression flickered over Orion’s face for a moment. “Maybe.”

“Whatever it is, it’s thoroughly wrecking me,” Lizzie declared; that didn’t stop her from taking another sip of wine, however.

She could hear the laughter ringing in Orion’s voice. “That’s got less to do with the grass and more with all that wine. And the fact that you’re really, really small.”

“I’m not really, really small!” Lizzie replied indignantly.

“Of course you are, look at you; you’re basically a midget.”

Lizzie shoved him playfully, trying to keep a straight face but failing. “I’m not a midget and I’m not small!”

Orion caught her hand without so much as an effort. “Just look at you, you could wear my sweater as a dress.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m the perfect size.”

There it was again, that curious expression Lizzie had seen just a moment before. A crooked smile appeared on Orion’s face as his eyes flickered from her face over the rest of her body.

“I can hardly argue with that.”

Lizzie regarded him for a moment, trying to take his measure. The mood had shifted from the relaxed cuddle they’d shared into something entirely different. There was a sudden tension hanging in the air that made Lizzie’s skin tingle and she was sure that it had nothing to do with either the grass or the alcohol.

The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Is that so?”

She leaned forward again to put the wine glass away, using the momentum to shift her position. Turning slightly, she straddled Orion’s thighs, one arm resting lightly on his shoulder.

His dark eyes followed her every movement as she plucked the joint from his lips, gave it one slow, deliberate drag before putting it out against the wall, never breaking their eye contact. Holding the smoke inside her mouth for one long moment, she dipped her head back and blew it against the night sky. When she looked back at Orion again, his eyes on her were intense, making a shiver run down her spine. His hands were holding her hips, waiting on what she would do. Her lips curved into a smirk as she leaned in, her lips close to his ear.

“Only one way to find out.”

There was nothing hesitant about the way their lips found each other for the first time. Lizzie could taste the same fruity sweetness of the wine on his lips that was still hanging on hers.

Orion’s grip on her waist intensified and she could feel the rough skin of his hands as they found their way underneath her shirt, his fingers feeling deliciously cool against her heated skin. Her breath accelerated as their kiss deepend, her lips parting willingly as Orion’s tongue brushed against her lower lip.

She buried her hands in his long hair, as he pulled her closer, their bodies pressed together as closely as their position would allow. A low moan left Orion’s lips as she softly pulled at his hair, the movement of his head following her lead as he dipped it back into his neck.

Breaking their kiss, Lizzie’s lips started moving over his cheek to his jawline, her breath ghosting over his bare neck. She could see the goosebumps on his skin and feel his fingers dig into her waist as she teasingly ran her tongue over his collarbone. He sucked in his breath in surprise as her teeth nipped the sensitive skin and Lizzie couldn’t help but grin as her lips travelled upwards again.

Capturing his lips in another searing kiss, Lizzie’s breath hitched as his hands were sliding down from her waist over her hips. They came to rest on her bum, squeezing it tightly for a moment. She could feel his jeans becoming tighter as she ran her hand over him, coaxing another moan from his mouth. The sound made the heat spread from her stomach through her chest and into the rest of her body; she wanted to hear more of that.

Her fingers started working to undo his belt when he suddenly stopped her, gently pulling her hand away. Her eyes flew towards his face, a crease appearing on her brow.

“You not okay with this?”

Orion’s eyes were sparkling as he pulled her in for another kiss that took her breath away. When he pulled back, Lizzie’s head was spinning.

“Let’s take this inside,” he muttered into her ear. His voice sounded a lot deeper than what she was used to and she shuddered in anticipation.

Lizzie reluctantly climbed off him to let him get up. Orion couldn’t resist kissing her again, as he walked past her. Taking her hand, he pulled her towards the skylight that led down into the darkness of his flat. He climbed down the steps without a moment of hesitation; Lizzie, however, had to channel her concentration on something different than the burning need to feel Orion’s hands on her skin before tackling the unfamiliar steps.

And sure enough, two steps down, she misplaced her foot and felt herself falling for a moment. But for the second time that evening Orion was there, his hands providing her with something to hold onto.

Standing on the steps, Lizzie was a little taller than him. She gave in to the urge to pull him towards her and steal another kiss from him. His hands ran over her exposed thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Lizzie’s muscles tensed when he lifted her off the stairs, her legs wrapping around his midsection as he carried her over to his bed with a few short steps.

He lowered her down onto it and got rid of his shirt. There was no light in the room except for what was falling through the windows from the streetlights outside, but it was enough for Lizzie to see all of the countless tattoos decorating his skin, all the thoughtful quotes and intricate patterns.

She propped herself up on her elbows, locking eyes with him as he joined her on the bed. Reaching for his belt again, this time Orion let her undo it without objection. The deep moan she drew from him as she ran her hand over him a second time made her breathing speed up as well.

Much to her surprise, now that they’d changed location, their roles had reversed themselves. Where Lizzie had been in charge up on the rooftop, it was all she could do to keep her wits together as Orion let his hands roam her body.

The sweater she had still been wearing went almost instantly, quickly followed by her shirt and her shorts. Lizzie closed her eyes and held her breath as Orion worked his way from her lips over her neck, trailing kisses down between her breasts, lingering there for a sweet moment before moving on even lower. His soft lips combined with the bite of his beard almost drove her insane, but Lizzie just so managed to pull herself together.

Pushing him off her, she used his moment of confusion to flip him over, straddling him again. She shuddered at the feeling of him through her pants but pushed the thought aside; not just yet.

“Did you really think I was going to make this so easy for you?” she purred as she twirled his necklace around her finger. She smirked as she slightly repositioned herself on top of him, creating a delicious friction between them that had not only Orion exhale very slowly.

Lizzie pulled her hair tie out, enjoying the tickle as her light brown curls fell down beneath her shoulder blades. She bent forward to kiss Orion again, but he was simply staring at her.

“What?” she asked with a slight chuckle.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, brushing her hair that had fallen over her shoulder and was almost reaching his bare chest out of her face. Lizzie enjoyed the light pull as he raked his fingers through her mane. “So damn fucking beautiful.”

Lizzie felt a smile form on her lips before she kissed him, teasingly biting his lip. She could feel Orion’s hand wandering up her bare back to where her bra was still hooked. With a practised movement that didn’t surprise her in the least, he undid the clasp and Lizzie shrugged it off. The cool air coming in from the still open skylight hit her bare breasts and made her shiver from more than cold.

Orion’s hands danced over her thighs and up her sides until they found her breasts. Lizzie shuddered as his fingers grazed her sensitive spot at their base, her eyes closed to enjoy the sensation fully, when he suddenly stopped.

Opening her eyes again, she saw a curious look forming on his face as he turned her slightly so the light would better shine on her. Lizzie chuckled to herself; she knew exactly what he was so surprised to see.

“I never knew you had a tattoo,” Orion said, his eyes wandering over the black writing.

He traced his fingers over the inked words sneaking over her ribcage to the base of her breasts; the touch of his calloused fingertips made her sigh.

“You recognise the words?” she whispered with a smile, running her hand over one of Orion’s own tattoos on his chest.

“Unbounded like water, burning like wildfire,” he smiled, “of course I do; I wrote them after all. I had no idea you had them inked.”

She smiled back at him; the quote was taken out of one of her favourite songs Orion had ever written. “They’ve pulled at something in me ever since I heard them for the first time. I wanted to carry them with me wherever I go.”

A series of different emotions flickered over Orion’s face, much too quick for Lizzie to distinguish in the half-light of the room. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her, keeping her close. He kissed her with a passion that took her breath away.

“I want you,” he whispered into her ear, his voice low and husky in his throat, making Lizzie draw a shivering breath as she leaned her forehead against his.

“Then come and take me.”

It was all Orion needed to hear. He let himself fall back onto the bed, drawing her down with him. Their lips met in a passionate kiss before he flipped them around, so he was on top of her.

His head dipped against her shoulder as Lizzie reached down, tracing the edge of his boxers before her fingers disappeared beneath it. She ran them up and down his length, noting how his breath hitched, his arms tensing around her as she worked against him.

He stopped her after a few more strokes and moved away from her hand. Repaying her in kind, he ran his fingers over her pants, so very slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as she moaned at his touch. Hooking his fingers underneath the fabric, he pulled them off, leaving her fully exposed to him, but there wasn’t a single moment Lizzie felt vulnerable at all.

She gasped as Orion began to touch her properly; the touch of his rough fingertips was surprisingly soft, and combined with the trail of kisses he left on her hot skin, he made her feel like she was on fire. Her breathing strained, she managed to rasp out his name just before she would lose it completely.

Never stopping the movement of his hand, Orion looked up at her with a wicked grin on his lips.

“Anything the matter?”

All she wanted was to feel him by now but her words died on her lips as Orion slightly twisted his hand, making her inhale sharply.

With a low chuckle he withdrew his hand, making her miss his touch immediately. That short moment of regret was instantly forgotten when she felt Orion position himself before slowly pushing inside her.

For a fraction of a second, the reality that she was sleeping with one of her best friends hovered on the border of Lizzie’s mind, threatening to hit her; but when Orion started moving against her, their bodies instantly found a common rhythm. They were in tune with each other from the very first moment, all thoughts forgotten.

Their ragged breaths, her sweet sighs and his deep moans were a music of their own. Lizzie had her legs wrapped around Orion, her nails digging into his forearms; she could feel his muscles working underneath her fingers as he supported his weight with his arms. Even through the haze of her drunk and drugged mind, she was impressed with how flawlessly they were working together; his body against hers was feeling so incredibly natural, like they were meant to be that way.

She had no idea how, but just like before, Orion managed to hit all the right spots at the same time. Lizzie had trouble focusing on anything but the fire building inside her. She couldn’t form a coherent thought anymore, wasn’t able to think any further than the next breath, the next shock of pleasure Orion sent through her body as they moved.

Feeling she was almost there, her hold on him tightened as he picked up the pace, shifting slightly to take a little strain off his arms. Taken by surprise at the suddenly different angle, digging her fingers into Orion’s shoulders was all Lizzie could do as her high crashed over her like a tidal wave. Her body shook as she buried her face against Orion’s chest, clinging to him as if for dear life.

Hearing his name fall from her lips in a broken moan with her nails biting into his back, Orion couldn’t last much longer either. Their rhythm became an off-beat one, his movements more erratic than before. Lizzie could feel the muscles in his back tremble as he rode out his own high. His head dipped into the crook of her neck as both their breathings were starting to slow.

Orion stayed on top of her for a moment longer and kissed her one last time before pushing himself off of her. Lizzie breathed in deeply, running her hand over her tangled hair.

“Huh,” she chuckled, “who would’ve thought.”

“Who indeed,” Orion smirked.

The sizzling tension between them from before was gone and it just felt like it had always done between them; relaxed, familiar and completely natural.

They looked at each other for a moment before simultaneously bursting into laughter, nothing more than friends again, the sound carrying through the dark, out of the window and into the black night sky.

#hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hogwarts mystery #rockstar au #orion amari #lizzie jameson #lizion #when stars ignite #wsi #besties collaborate #so much for me saying I'll never write smut for my ocs

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dingoat · 3 years

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[I mulled over a few possible options for this one, heh, but after some chatter with @cinlat I realised I could mush some of my ancient Ahuska backstory with half baked future plans with vague species lore/headcanons and string it along into something roughly story-shaped. The whole thing wound up a lot more somber than I’d anticipated, but at least I can always count on Crow to soften the mood!] ---

For the better part of three weeks, she’d been dwelling. What had started out as the most unexpected news conceivable had led to a flurry of unanswerable questions; was the news welcome? Was she excited? Did she care? Did she want anything to do with it? But that had all rapidly died down into a sullen simmering of nerves, as Ahuska struggled with something she genuinely never thought she’d have to face.

She had a family. She’d been raised well, and loved, as far back as she could properly remember. Did she really want to go back further, did she need to know anything about where she’d come from? The thought of being connected to Bothawui in any way made her feel ill, but Crow had gently reminded her, over and over, that this changed nothing.

She was Mando’ad, where family is built on more than bloodline, and having surviving relatives from a life she couldn’t even recall changed nothing.

Having a twin brother changed nothing.

Except that it clearly meant something to… him. And the older one. Two brothers, with families of their own, who’d reached out to find the sister they’d thought they’d lost with their parents. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know them, but…

“Crow?” Ahuska tapped his arm with a single hesitant finger, but he’d already turned to seek her out. They were more in tune with one another than ever.

“Mmm?”

“I think I… I want you to meet my family,” she mumbled, eyes slipping to the side.

Crow grinned his softer grin. “Ahhh, I think we’ve already been through that part of the relationship. Was a couple years ago now, at least?”

She felt her ears grow warm, but her eyes turned back to him. “With me, I mean. I want you to come with me to… meet the family I haven’t met yet. I don’t know if I even want to call them that yet, I guess, I doubt they’ll want to either once they’ve met me…”

“Oh, psshh,” Crow made to wave away her worry with a flick of his hand. “You said the whole reason they found out you existed was from holos of the business down at the Ve’lora place, right? Not like they haven’t already got some sort of clue about the life you live, and they still reached out.”

“It already feels so weird, though. They’ve known about me… all their lives. They… knew me, a-and mourned me? They missed me, and I’ve just never known… it’s like they’re strangers, who call me a sister. It’s fethin’ weird.”

“I know, I know. And if they’ve got half a brain between them they’ll realise that too. All you gotta do is meet them, say hi to them and their… uh, heh. Hey. What are baby bothans called, anyway?”

“Huh? What, I… I don’t think he told me any of their names, I don’t even know how many kids he said they each had…”

“What? No, I meant like… y’know. Do you call them… uhhh, like how little cathar are kits, and…”

Every one of Ahuska’s nerves abruptly vanished, and the series of blinks followed by a hard stare made Crow immediately realise he’d made one of those mistakes.

“Sorry, sorry, I just figured…”

“Babies,” Ahuska said, her tone completely flat. “Baby bothans are babies. Not cubs, not fawns, not kits…” her snout wrinkled a little at that.

Crow’s manner was meek, but the way he squinted at her made it clear he was still trying to work out where exactly the problem lay. “Okay but… don’t… wouldn’t there be some word you use for them…?”

“What, like ik’aad?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Crow brightened as Ahuska offered the comparison, then immediately ducked his head as her expression grew harder still.

“Like ik’aad. The Mando’a word that literally translates to ‘baby’?”

Crow’s grin wavered, sensing a trap. “Ye-es…?”

“Not likaya? Not pe’ninr?” Ahuska continued to watch Crow carefully as she offered the Mando’a for kitten and puppy.

“Well. No. Of course-”

“Of course not!” Ahuska snapped over the top of him, with an emphatic gesture of both hands to drive her point. “Likaya literally means baby cat. Not baby person. Not baby human, or bothan, or even cathar, it’s the word you use for a little cute wobbly baby animal that meows before it opens its eyes. You wouldn’t call some random Mando kid likaya if we were talking in Mando’a, would you…?”

“I… guess not…” To the unfamiliar, it would look as though Crow were simply still grinning, but Ahuska knew the way it’s quality shifted that he was in fact frowning on the inside.

Ahuska took a slow breath, pinching the bridge of her snout. “And just the same, the bothese for ‘baby cat’ and ‘baby person’ are two totally different words. One translates to kitten, in basic, and the other to baby. Just baby. There’s nothing fancy, nothing cute about it, grown-ass men and women aren’t bucks and does or stallions or vixens, and I’d be willing to bet that there’s a good chunk of cathar out there who hate the way the better part of the galaxy pretends their own native words for their kids translate to ‘baby cat’---!!”

Despite her efforts to calm herself, Ahuska’s pitch and volume had rapidly increased, her gestures had grown more emphatic, and her attitude was positively simmering. Crow didn’t even need to tune into the beat of her heart to know he’d struck a hard nerve, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to handle it.

“Okay, okay,” he said quickly, lifting his hands in an effort to make it clear he was willing to concede. The crease of his forehead knit a little deeper. “I just would’ve thought, of all people, you might… find it kind of cute, at least? Like the way Nines…”

She shot him a look that made him shut up quick smart, then immediately made a visible effort to cool herself off.

“Let me… try and explain it another way,” she said, speaking slowly, her gaze focused inward. “One time when I was little, nine or ten years or something. I was on a trip with my buire, we had to spend the night in an Imperial settlement. We were checking in to some accommodation, just on the outskirts where it was quiet, and… you know buir’ika was a chadra-fan, right? Well, they had me and her go around to the back somewhere, and wait a while in another building. There was a nerf there, a couple of tauntauns, I think a big old varactyl even... one of the tauns had a fawn so that’s where all my attention was. I thought it was excellent, like, some special treat for me, buir’ika sure acted like it was. Anyway, it was a while later that nuvhu’buir… ah, that’s what I called Jinn, yeah? She came round to where we were with all our stuff, a few extra blankets and things, and we built ourselves a bed right there in the hay and spent the night there. I knew she was mad about something, but she never said why, at least not ever to me. I remember falling asleep hearing her and buir’ika talking really quietly together, and I was wondering why she was so upset. Didn’t make any sense to me at the time, since I thought it was… pretty much the best thing ever. I was too little to get it.”

Crow listened quietly, and when Ahuska paused, he didn’t say a word. He just watched her, offering his full attention, and waited for her to go on.

“They made us sleep in the damned stables. It was years later I looked back and realised that. They probably would’ve let nuvhu’buir stay up in a proper room, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with that. Stables, me and buir’ika, just because of our damn faces. So no. No, I don’t appreciate it when people joke about me going to a vet rather than a doctor, or offer me ‘treats’ for being a ‘good girl’. It’s not cute, it’s gross. And that goes hand in hand with asking if my species have litters, or if our babies are called foals, or if we go into heat. Ugh.” She made an ugly scowl at that. “Rule of thumb? If you wouldn’t ask a Mirialan the same question, it’s probably rude as hell to ask a Bothan. Or, y’know. Literally any other sapient species.”

Flushed, Ahuska found herself glancing off to the side, feeling oddly unburdened to have let it all out, and yet also heavy for having to unload to Crow. She knew he meant nothing by it, that of all the beings in the galaxy his intentions were utterly pure. She’d never forget the way he deflected those stuffy noblewomen on Alderaan that time.

She felt his hand envelope hers. “Did you want me to talk to Nines, and get her to let up a bit on the way she-?”

“Nayc,” Ahuska found the answer came easily, even if she couldn’t quite articulate why. “Not to me, anyway. I want to say it’s different, but it’s probably not, really. I dunno. Just maybe give her a poke if she starts on any other bothans with ‘Puppy’, yeah?” “It used to bother you a lot though, didn’t it?”

Ahuska stared out at nothing for a while.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Still sorry.”

His chin came to rest over her head, and she closed her eyes as she let her face rest against the comforting curve of his neck.

“I’m sorry too. Not your fault the galaxy is the way it is. I’m just… a little wound up right now, I think. I’m nervous about this.” “Shhh,” he soothed gently, and she let her face fall against the hand he brought to her cheek. “You don’t need to make an excuse for yourself. I asked you something stupid. Can’t promise I won’t again in the future, but I’ll always be ready to listen to you. Mmkay?” Ahuska found herself nodding against his palm. “‘kay.”

“And I’ll be right there with you, meeting those other relatives of yours. And if they turn out to be bastards? I’ll find a totally not-xenophobic way to give them a piece of my mind.”

She made a little snort, and let her arms wrap around him. “And that’s why I love you.”

#dingoat writes #swtor fic #writing prompts #ty ty for asking!!#let's see if I can actually get through the whole lot haha #my inbox #both haunts and inspires #but wow here's some thoughts that have rolled around in my head for some long while #and I know I'm in the fandom minority with a lot of things when it comes to certain alien species #ah well

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malkumtend · 4 years

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I Like Your Laugh (A SquirrelCrow AU) - Chapter 17.

He’d been here before.

Well, actually, he’d been here all his life. It was on the moors of Windclan territory. On the hills that cascaded over in an endless shape. Crowpaw looked around in bewilderment, the relief of finding home leaving him as soon as he realised a more glaring fact.

He couldn’t even remember how he got here.

Bristling, Crowpaw felt his stomach chill, a searing dread overcoming him. It was night-time, but where the Windclan sky should have been full of bright stars, only a vast, empty darkness hung over the hills. There wasn’t even a moon. Crowpaw turned around again and again, but all that met him was the emptiness of the hills and the ebony sky.

It seemed like Windclan, but it lacked everything that meant anything.

This place was devoid of warmth and safety, only coldness and dread reigned here.

Crowpaw swallowed down his growing fear, his tail stiffening as he remembered the cats he had been with for moons. “S-Squirrelpaw?” He called out hopefully, his voice echoed around him carrying a dreary chant. It sounded wrong. “Feather-” He paused, swallowed again, and took a breath. “Tawnypelt? Stormfur? Brambleclaw?!” Again and again, only the hollow repetition of his growing fear replied to him. He could hear the terror broadening with each call.

Crowpaw’s heart began to race. Something was deeply wrong here. His mind was hazy and he couldn’t find the breath to even think about what was going on. He felt the freezing night all over, as if it were trying to swallow him whole. A deep convicted sense of judgement littered the hills. It was almost like a thousand eyes were glaring hatefully at him, concealed in the dark home; waiting to drag Crowpaw in.

He tried to command his trembling legs to run away, to find whatever help he could, it wasn’t safe here, but his paws kept firm on the ground. The hills held him there, frozen with unknown horror.

Then he saw it.

A black shape in the corner of his eye. A tremble worked along Crowpaw’s neck to his body and then down to the tip of his tail. He inhaled, craving desperately to feel anything other than the scratchy moans rasping on his voice.

He turned and two glowing eyes stared at him.

Even in the darkness, even if the cat’s black pelt was nothing more than a shadow in the night, Crowpaw recognised that stare. A forgotten scent entered Crowpaw and made his jaw drop.

“Deadfoot?”

Deadfoot blinked but said nothing.

Involuntarily, Crowpaw felt the desire, the burning need to embrace his father, to cling to him like he was still a kit and not an apprentice terrified in the middle of nowhere. But he still kept still. Maybe because the cold had numbed his bones.

Maybe because Deadfoot’s stare held him back.

“Where are we?” Crowpaw yowled desperately to his father. “What’s going on?”

Deadfoot said that a mistake had been made.

The voice that came out of his father made Crowpaw’s fur shoot up on all ends. The strands of comfort he had were scratched away and left Crowpaw alone.

“A mistake?” Crowpaw muttered.

Deadfoot repeated himself.

“What are you talking about? What mistake? I- Where’s the rest of my group?”

Deadfoot said that they were fine now. That they were better off now that Crowpaw wasn’t there.

“W-What?” Crowpaw stammered, now failing to muster whatever bravery he had feigned. He just now began to see that behind the hollow glow of his father’s stare, there was nothing but an unimaginable hatred.

Deadfoot claimed that Crowpaw had failed. That he was the mistake that Deadfoot had made.

Crowpaw’s breathing weakened. “I-I don’t-”

Deadfoot screamed that Crowpaw should never interrupt him. Crowpaw cowered as the ferocity shattered the night sky and made a torrent of rain hiss down onto the pair. Crowpaw struggled to raise his gaze again; even when he was alive, Crowpaw had never heard his father yell at him like that. Deadfoot didn’t react to the rain as he continued that he was a fool for ever trusting an apprentice to do a warrior’s job. He bitterly remarked that Windclan was now the laughingstock of Starclan.

Crowpaw felt blame pierce through him like a stone. The kind of blame that could kill. That had killed.

“W-Well why did you choose me in the first place?” Crowpaw yelled, “If I was such a mess, why did you send me instead of a Warrior?” If he hadn’t been chosen, maybe she wouldn’t have-

Deadfoot interrupted the choked sob with a loathing explanation that Crowpaw had a name to live up to, and he was given a chance, and he had failed.

Crowpaw tried to rub the pain off his fur before it ate him away. “I-I did everything you told me to!” He screamed, the scream he somehow remembers from the times his father was alive. “We made it to the sun-drown place! We completed the journey!”

Deadfoot wondered aloud if the journey was complete without Riverclan’s chosen cat.

Crowpaw screwed his eyes until he saw dots instead of the blood and the body. “D-Don’t!” He pleaded.

Deadfoot spoke the truth. It was Crowpaw’s fault. He wasn’t quick enough. A Windclan cat wasn’t quick enough, he spat with a bitter, horrible laugh. He mused whether Windclan would want a cat like that back if they were to ever realise that.

Crowpaw kept his eyes closed but the tears still came. Wet and hot and taunting him with his failures.

A failure. Deadfoot decided. Crowpaw was a failure to his clan, to himself, to Deadfoot, and to her.

The rain still hissed down, scratchy and scraping, but Crowpaw didn’t feel it on his pelt anymore. It wasn’t like he fully realised it. Apologies and begging was caught in the thorns that enclosed around his throat, digging into his tongue as he was bombarded with the images again. Deadfoot’s disgusted, disowning expression. His own cowardly face, pressed against stone, frozen in fear. Then-

A new voice came, withered, forgotten, dying. But it was clear in its decision that Deadfoot was right about Crowpaw.

Crowpaw didn’t know why he opened his eyes, but he did. And he wasn’t in the moors anymore. The shadows of the cave flashed up and away with the roar of thunder. A tail-length ahead of him, a broken body lay in its pool of gore, silver fur matted with dirty crimson, its shattered head was turned up and staring at Crowpaw through pale, bloodshot eyes that once were a brilliant blue.

The Windclan cat felt bile in his throat as the voice he still recognised spoke up again claiming that it was Crowpaw’s fault. As she spoke, she coughed out a wad of blood that flickered on the grey cat’s paws.

Crowpaw didn’t argue. He wanted to open his mouth and beg for whatever mercy he could still hope for.

But the growling behind him made him stop.

Wearily, acceptingly, the tom turned, staring right into the hungry ember eyes of Sharptooth. He knew that what was going to happen was what should have already occurred but, of course, he still closed his eyes and screamed as he felt the jaws lunge forward and claim the prey it always should have seized.

Regrettably, Crowpaw woke up. He shook his head from side to side, seeing no cave anywhere. Instead, his sleeping friends lay all around him. The moon sagged in the dim night; it wouldn’t be long before they all had to continue home.

The tom winced at the images that still stung in his mind. His heart threatened to burst out of his mouth with how hard it was beating. He breathed slowly as he realised that he was safe.

Then the guilt made his throat close up again.

How could he feel any relief that he was safe or alive? He’d seen her in his nightmare.

The cat who would have gladly licked his head like a worried mother if she’d seen him like this. She was gone and was never coming back. And even though that vision of her had been nothing more than some terrible dream, it didn’t change the truth.

It was his fault that she was dead.

He had been the one who couldn’t hide from Sharptooth, he had been the one who she had risked her life for, he was the one that she had died to save. Whether it was ‘prophecy’ or not, she had died because of him. Now Riverclan was without their chosen cat, now they had lost a valiant Warrior, Stormfur and Greystripe had both lost their own family.

All because of some worthless, pathetic, apprentice from another clan.

Stormfur had trusted him. Make sure that she doesn’t get hurt. Crowpaw had promised something that he couldn’t keep. She had been hurt. She had been lost. He could only imagine what the Riverclan Warrior thought of him.

Crowpaw’s head sank onto the cold grass, exhaling like it may cause his own life to fade into the hills. Deadfoot, whether it was him or not, had been right. He’d made a terrible mistake choosing his son.

Death and despair, that was what had come because of Deadfoot’s choice. But then again, he’d probably only wanted to give his son a chance that Windclan never would have approved of. What that nightmare had said, who’s to say it wasn’t what the real cat thought.

If he closed his eyes, Crowpaw could feel the stars burning down on him with disgust.

Crowpaw felt the presence of the cats beside him, each glowing with the respectful title of Warrior. There was a reason they’d been chosen. There was a reason Crowpaw shouldn’t have been. They’d all been right to be on edge when they found out an apprentice was Windclan’s supposed savior. They never would have accepted him if it wasn’t for her. And now, she’d had to pay the price for her kindness.

He’d not even once suspected that she might be the prophesised cat. Was he really that blind? If he’d bothered to just think for one moment, he might have been able to do something to keep her from that fate! He could have refused ever going back there!

But he hadn’t done anything right, he hadn’t been the friend she’d called him. Feathertail deserved better than him.

He didn’t deserve a place here. He should have been the one they’d go home without.

But they were stuck with him. The memories of Feathertail, of Crowpaw’s failure, were stuck with them all. They were better off if the ground would just swallow him there and then. If anything happened to any more of his friends, because of his actions…

Dolefully, Crowpaw turned to his sleeping best friend. She was curled up in a tight ball, her muzzle creased with a disturbed look. Clearly, her dreams were also plagued. Crowpaw’s ears lay tight against his head, sympathy and guilt icing his heart.

I’m sorry, Squirrelpaw. I’m so sorry. She had lost a close friend too. They had become friends because of Feather. His claws retreated into him, soft horror making him ache. The bloody images of his nightmare clawed over him, reminding him what he caused, what he brought.

If he ever saw Squirrelpaw like that…

He’d sooner die.

So much of him wanted to go over to her and comfort her, to tell her that everything would be okay. But how could he dare do such a thing? He couldn’t tell her such terrible lies. She wasn’t stupid, she knew who was to blame, even if she was too kind to show it.

She had stayed beside him the whole way here. Her kindness was poisoning her. If she was put in a dire enough situation, Crowpaw knew how her bravery would make her act, she’d protect anyone she thought of as her friend.

She’d die for them.

Crowpaw would never let that happen.

He hated what he was thinking of doing, but it was for the best. He couldn’t do anything to help Squirrelpaw. He’d seen how she had tried to storm over when Sharptooth was advancing on him, and how her death was only prevented because Brambleclaw had held her back.

Her clanmate had protected her. Her clan was the only thing that could protect her. She would only face pain if she continued on with him. Crowpaw dragged his eyes away from his friend, gritting his teeth as he forced himself to accept the truth. This needs to end. You always knew that deep down.

He was a kit for thinking any different.

If his thoughts were right, they would reach home hopefully by the end of tomorrow. They’d reach the fields first, and then they would find Windclan. Then it would all end. They would separate.

Just like they were meant to do.

Images of the journey, foolish and sickly, mocked Crowpaw. The promise to meet again. The friendship they wished to retain. The happiness of those thoughts now taunted him, laughing at how he could have believed such a fantasy.

But he had wanted it, so much.

Because he cared about them.

He cared about her.

That was why he wouldn’t argue anymore. Crowpaw’s blue eyes dimly gazed up at the overwhelming swarm of stars, the lights that had always been, and always would dominate the sky above them. His face sank down in defeat.

He’d done this to himself.

He knew what was right now. For their sake, for her sake, when they said goodbye, it would be for good.

…

Everything hurt.

No cat hurried along the hill slope, even as the air began to smell more like home. They were all entrapped in the memories of mountains and caves, their hearts and spirits lost with the cat who would remain there for all time, the cat who should have come home with them all.

Every face carried some dark mask, the sting of loss piercing them all. But for Squirrelpaw, that loss clumped to her like thick roots, painfully wrapping around her bleeding, cracked paws, making her yearn to fall into another flood of tears again.

She fought to keep her head up. She told herself that Feathertail would have wanted her to be strong.

But Squirrelpaw wanted Feathertail here with them.

Because now, no cat looked ready to face whatever lied ahead in their journey.

For a while, Squirrelpaw had tried her best to comfort those who needed it the most. Obviously, Stormfur was her first priority. The grey Warrior had been devastated, his usual cheer barren, replaced by the murky weariness that had claimed them all. But for him, it was so much worse. Too many times, the cat had been quietly speaking, clearly trying to make some remark about home to his sister, only to find his side empty aside from the memory that Feathertail would never come home.

The look of utter heartbreak was gut-wrenching to see every time.

Squirrelpaw had done her best, like they all did, sharing tongues and pressing gentle pelts against the cat, but every word of encouragement she offered just felt like empty, dry breath in her mouth.

How could you comfort something like this? It wasn’t like it ever worked. It just reminded Squirrelpaw of those happy memories that were now bitter thorns on her pelt. Every gust of wind that should have told her they were growing closer to the clans just felt like a frosty imitation of Feathertail’s voice, unreachable yet lingering forever.

She didn’t need to look at her friends to know they felt it too.

Squirrelpaw sighed weakly from the back of the group. We should have all been here. That was how it was meant to be! It wasn’t fair! Feathertail had given everything, had been good and kind every step of the journey, more deserving to be called a hero than anyone Squirrelpaw knew; so why did she have to be the one who died?

Why did any of them have to die at all? They had all grown so close over this journey, had overstepped boundaries that the clans were drawn by, to lose any of them was some cruel joke after everything they’d been through!

It wasn’t fair to Feathertail’s sacrifice!

It wasn’t fair to the cats left struggling with her memory.

Especially the cat she loved, who hobbled at the front, tasting the air of his home, but with no spark of recognition at all.

It was so, so painful to see Crowpaw like this. It was clear the cat blamed himself for Feathertail’s death, and he still stuck to that idea no matter how many times Squirrelpaw tried to prove to him it wasn’t true. Her words only seemed to fall on him like rain, just making him more cold with every drop.

It was his eyes that made Squirrelpaw ache the most. A glazed, misty blue. Lifeless. It never left.

No cat could reach him.

But wasn’t that understandable? It was clear that he had lost the cat he loved, to Squirrelpaw at least.

She really was terrible for letting herself be hurt by that as well.

Squirrelpaw watched him sorrowfully as he took in another deep breath, scenting the marsh of his homeland. “We’re getting close.” He muttered, loud enough to be heard, gentle enough to be weak. They had past Highstones a few minutes ago, but the realisation offered no cat any comfort. They were all numb from the loss.

“It’s almost over.” Tawnypelt said, it was unclear whether she was speaking to the group or herself.

Beside her, her brother, Brambleclaw, lifted his head wearily. “I can’t believe it. It seems like just yesterday we all set off.”

Squirrelpaw saw Crowpaw’s tail swing angrily, “We all should have returned.” He growled, “If it wasn’t for Feathertail, we would never have made it back.”

His words sent a wave of grief throughout the cats, but none could disagree. “She saved us all.” Stormfur agreed in a hushed whisper, his eyes drifting off like clouds.

Tawnypelt moved over to the grey cat, pressing her head gently against his. “It was her destiny.”

Crowpaw’s neck stiffened up, and dread coiled in Squirrelpaw. “Destiny?” Crowpaw cursed, “Her destiny was with us! It was with her clan! She shouldn’t have died for another cat’s prophecy!” His voice was dry with loathing.

Squirrelpaw knew where it was targeted.

She pounced up to where her friend was, the aching in her heart was now intolerable. Up close, she saw the bitterness in Crowpaw’s eyes again. “She did what she thought was right.” Squirrelpaw said softly, “That was just who Feathertail was.”

Crowpaw seemed to be straining to look away from her. His scowl fixed ahead, creasing as her words reached him. At his other side, Stormfur crept over and pressed his muzzle to the tom’s pelt. “Bravery and sacrifice are part of the Warrior Code. Would you have wanted her to make any other choice?”

The Warrior Code. The words fell onto Squirrelpaw like a hawk’s talons. Her teeth quietly clashed together. Crowpaw seemed to have the same idea, his eyes widening for a split moment that made Squirrelpaw tremble. The dark tom burst ahead, tasting the air, not giving the other two any more notice.

Stormfur sighed and slunk back to where Tawnypelt was. Squirrelpaw was still watching Crowpaw wistfully, wishing she could know what to say to make him stop hurting. Over this journey, he had changed so much, they had changed so much, but now he seemed to be retreating back into the cold shell that refused any kind of kindness offered his way.

She couldn’t hate him though. She wouldn’t have fared much better if she had lost the cat she loved.

But now, the journey was finally ending. Soon he would be gone. Why did it have to end like this? Yes, she wanted to see her parents and sister again, the thought of their safety had never left her mind one since Midnight had told them about what the Twolegs were doing to the forest. But still?

She could never trivialise how much she would miss her friends. Especially Crowpaw.

For more than a moon, he had been by her side, through the best and worst of times. And now, it was just expected that they would leave that in the past and move on as rivals, like the clans demanded.

How could she ever do that? She couldn’t just pretend that this tom didn’t mean so much to her. Even when ignoring her feelings, they were close friends, she considered him her best friend, she was meant to just act like that was never even a thought?

Squirrelpaw cast her head low. It just wasn’t fair.

A gentle press to her pelt made her look up. Two amber eyes looked at her with mellow sympathy. “He just needs some time.” Brambleclaw purred, “We all do really.”

Squirrelpaw’s whiskers twitched in surprise, but her gaze softened. “You can say that again.” The grass beneath her feet was soaked with dew that seeped into the cracks of her paws, making them sting. She hissed lightly, “I wish I knew what to say to him.”

Brambleclaw made a murmur of acknowledgement, his great shoulders sinking on him as he exhaled. “I’d help if I could.”

Squirrelpaw mewed wordlessly, strolling on.

Brambleclaw chewed on the inside of his cheek, his eyes flickering. “Are you going to be okay?”

He meant it well, but Squirrelpaw still laughed sadly. Oh, if her clanmate only knew. “Probably not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” She looked over at Crowpaw again, her muzzle scrunching. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I just wish he knew that.”

“He will, eventually.” Brambleclaw meowed.

Squirrelpaw scoffed, “How do you know that?”

“Because I know you won’t stop until he realises it.”

Squirrelpaw twisted to face her clanmate. He looked down at her, a gentle smile on his face. A proud smile. He chuckled faintly, his throat humming like a summer beehive. “He’s lucky to have a friend as loyal as you.” His smile thinned, “She was lucky as well; to know you.”

Squirrelpaw’s ears twitched and her tail flattened, “So much good I did.” She muttered. Feathertail was dead and Crowpaw wouldn’t even look at anyone.

“Of course, it did good.” Brambleclaw assured, “You were their when she needed you, that’s the best any cat can ask for.” He took a small breath, his ears falling flat. “It was better than anything I did.”

“What?” The apprentice’s ears perked up again.

“You were a better friend than I was a clanmate.”

Squirrelpaw’s face loosened, “Brambleclaw…”

“It’s true.” The brown tabby meowed out, an assured strength in his tone.

In a way, Squirrelpaw couldn’t disagree. The way Brambleclaw had treated her at the start of the journey had truly been terrible. She certainly hadn’t hidden the fact she resented him for his actions then. But that had been then. When they had reached the mountains, his attitude had greatly changed. He’d apologised for what he’d done and had promised to change.

And he hadn’t lied. He had changed.

She thought she’d made it clear she’d forgiven him. “Brambleclaw, it’s fine.” She mewed, smiling gently at her clanmate. One eye cocked up a little, “You may still be a mouse-brain, but you’ve done enough to make up for what happened.”

Despite her words, Brambleclaw still looked down, “You may be kind enough to say that Squirrelpaw. But I’d beg to differ.”

Squirrelpaw let out a hurt mew, “Why?”

Brambleclaw let out a low moan, his amber eyes cooling with hopelessness. “I thought that by the end of this journey, I would have been able to prove your father for not trusting me when we left the clans.” His back fur prickled. “But what did I do? I just proved him right.”

Squirrelpaw’s face filled with astonishment, “What are you talking about?” She remembered clearly how Firestar had treated Brambleclaw, and her for that matter, before they left. None of what happened then was fair at all.

“The way I treated you. Let’s face it, I was the cat you trusted the least, me, your own clanmate!” He dipped his head feebly, “Not that I didn’t deserve it. I just wanted to show I could be a good leader, and now one of us is…” His voice broke off into another shattered sigh.

Squirrelpaw remembered that clearly as well, it was true, she hadn’t trusted Brambleclaw then. But that didn’t stop his words from being any less stupid. The ginger molly rubbed her pelt against her clanmate’s. “You’re forgetting yourself, Brambleclaw. You just said it; what happened was not your fault.” She looked up at him, her tail pressing against his pelt. “You apologised for how you acted. I forgave you. That’s it.”

“But I-”

“And believe me, you are better at leading than you think.” Squirrelpaw couldn’t deny that, she wasn’t a liar… most of the time.” Her breath cast off for a second. She reclaimed it, cold and heavy. “If it wasn’t for you, Sharptooth would have got me as well.”

“Are you joking?” Brambleclaw cried, his eyes wide. “You’re the one who saved me!”

“And you saved me too.” She may not have liked it then. But neither had Brambleclaw. He hadn’t held her back to sacrifice Crowpaw, he was just doing his duty. He had to protect who he could. She would have done the same for him. “I think Firestar was more than wrong about you being a bad influence on me!”

Brambleclaw gazed down at the apprentice, his mouth open, and his eyes trembling with gratitude. Squirrelpaw purred, nudging him with her head. She gave him a playful look. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to put in a great word for you!”

The brown tabby laughed weakly, nudging her back teasingly. “He was wrong about you, as well, you know?”

“Really now?”

“Yes.” His muzzle glowed with an honoured glint. “You deserve to become a Warrior. You’re going to make a great one.”

That was what Squirrelpaw had wanted to hear from him for moons.

“Thank you.” She mewed quietly, somehow overcome. She quickly sniffed up though, cheekily whipping the larger cat with her tail. “What made you finally come to your senses?”

Brambleclaw rose a brow, smirking. “Tawnypelt told me you were keeping a tally on how many times you saved me.”

Squirrelpaw laughed out loud, “Oh that. Well… I might have done. You want me to tell you the numbers.”

Brambleclaw rolled his eyes, walking ahead, “I’m sure you’ll tell me soon enough.”

She’d missed this. This friendship they’d had before they left. The pain in her paws seemed to leave her as she realised, she had her friend back. A friend that would be by her side when they reached home.

Squirrelpaw stilled.

Home.

The molly’s heart oozed with worry again, her breaths deepening. How could she have forgotten? Home; her family! This journey was far from over yet! They still had to find their clan and tell them about what they’d seen.

“What do you think my father will say when we tell him about Midnight?”

The humour drained from Brambleclaw’s expression. “Who knows?”

Squirrelpaw cringed. It was her own dad and she wasn’t entirely sure how he would react to the idea that they needed to run away from this forest as soon as possible. Leaving generations of history was not an easy ask. “Do you think he’ll believe us?”

Brambleclaw’s eyes cast down densely, “He’ll have to. If what Midnight said ends up being true.”

A spike of fear dug into Squirrelpaw. The destruction Midnight had promised would come… No. She had to shake those thoughts from her head. They had come so far now, they had lost too much, she couldn’t afford to lose sight of the future.

She opened her mouth to say something, but Brambleclaw suddenly tensed and burst forward. “Come on!”

Without thinking, she ran after him. Crowpaw had burst off in a sprint, weaving through a rabbit track, Tawnypelt and Stormfur close behind. Squirrelpaw’s heart leapt into her mouth. He must have smelt Windclan!

Squirrelpaw put all her strength into running after the group, soon catching up with them as the thought of home stimulated her nerves and muscles. She followed through the track, not pausing as the wet soil caked over her paws. They were so close to the forest. She couldn’t slow down now!

Following the frantic shapes of her friends at the front, Squirrelpaw began to see a weak light shimmer near the end of the tunnel. Sunlight. She bounded towards it like it was the light of Starclan.

Ignoring the gorse spines embedding into her fur, she pounded towards the light, leaping out to see a wide grassy plain stretch out before her. Instantly, the smells of Windclan took over her senses.

They were here! Alleviation, a small victory, sparked in Squirrelpaw’s gut. They had made it back!

She raced to catch up with the others, leaping through heather and tall grass, not stopping for a moment.

As she pounced through a brush of heather, she just about caught Brambleclaw’s yowl. “I smell Windclan warriors!”

Squirrelpaw smelt them too. She had found one.

She digged her paws into the soil to stop herself from colliding with the cat. The tom was small, an apprentice by the look of it, and stood in the centre of a grassy clearing, his thin pelt bristled with rage as he spotted Squirrelpaw. “I knew I smelt intruders!” He hissed, as he slowly advanced on Squirrelpaw.

Squirrelpaw’s eyes widened with shock, then darkened into rage, her claws unsheathing. Was she really going to need to fight this little runt as soon as she got back? After everything she’d gone through. Her pelt spiked with warning as the cat approached, growling.

Between them, a grey shape cut in. Standing a little over the apprentice, Crowpaw stared down.

“Owlkit!” Crowpaw yowled, “Don’t you recognise me?” Squirrelpaw’s face twisted. This pest was a kit?!

Owlkit stared at Crowpaw vaguely, before he snapped. “I’m Owlpaw now!” He hissed indignantly.

Squirrelpaw scoffed to the side. Was it true that all Windclan cats were as snappy as this?

Owlpaw did seem to recognise the tom however, but when Crowpaw tried to explain their travels and how he needed to see Tallstar immediately. Another pair of Windclan cat approached, their eyes also narrow with mistrust as they saw the other clan cats on their territory.

“Get them off our territory now!” A wiry grey tom ordered. Squirrelpaw stared worriedly at the ribs protruding from his thin waist. They looked like they hadn’t eaten in days! Her worry was quickly forgotten though, as the tom, Webfoot, Crowpaw called him, demanded that they leave!

“They travelled with me.” Crowpaw meowed sternly, “I’ll explain it all when I see Tallstar.”

“You’ll explain everything later! We thought you were dead.” The tone of Webfoot’s voice didn’t sound happy that the thought was proven false. “Now, get them out of here! They don’t belong here!”

Squirrelpaw’s fury raged inside of her, the fool wasn’t even giving Crowpaw a chance to defend himself! She saw Crowpaw’s tail lash in frustration and she couldn’t stop herself from stepping forward! After everything she’d seen, she wasn’t afraid of some malnourished grump.

But Brambleclaw quickly stepped forward, his head dipping respectfully to the glaring warrior. “Of course, we’ll leave.” A stern but pleading look crossed over to Squirrelpaw. Please keep your cool. It seemed to beg.

Squirrelpaw sighed and turned away, “We need to return to our own clans anyway.” She muttered, trying to hold back her hiss.

“Then hurry up!” Webfoot growled, his unkind eyes latched onto Crowpaw. “Come on then, I’ll take you to Tallstar. I’m sure he’ll love hearing whatever you have to say.” The cat said, his stare burning unkindly on the dark apprentice.

Squirrelpaw gaped. This was the welcome Crowpaw got, after everything he’d done for his clan?! Her heart surged to protect her friend, but she paused as she saw Crowpaw take one reserved step forward. A thought that made everything suddenly grow cold.

This was it.

After more than a moon of bonding, befriending and loving this tom, this was where they had to separate. This was where things went back to normal. She watched as Crowpaw continued to speak to Webfoot about the clans, wondering, maybe pleading, that the thought of this was as heartbreaking to him as it was for her.

He didn’t look her way.

Squirrelpaw felt her own fur freeze as reality came over her in a cruel tide. This really was the end. No more walking and talking by Crowpaw’s side. No more nights curled next to him, their warmth aiding each other. No more of their friendship being something they could hide.

Would their friendship even be allowed to carry on?

The molly stared hopelessly after the tom. She could still hear when she had first called him her friend. She could feel his care for her when he hugged her. Where had the time gone since then? Everything had been pulled away from her like an owl stealing a kit from their mother’s paws.

She was just expected to forget all of this.

She didn’t want to forget. She couldn’t forget any of this.

She couldn’t just treat Crowpaw like he was some enemy.

She…

He was her…

Crowpaw looked back, but it wasn’t just at her. His eyes were shallow with thought, a hard line on his muzzle. “Can I say goodbye to my friends first?”

Goodbye…

Why did that word sound so harsh?

“Friends?” A brown Windclan tom meowed, aghast, “Does you loyalty lie with other clans now?” He spat poisonously.

Crowpaw gave the tom a level stare, but his paws clearly trembled in a fight to remain sheathed. “No. But we’ve travelled together for more than a moon.”

Exactly. And so much had changed in that time.

The Windclan cats did not look pleased by his answer, but they kept quiet.

Time seemed to slow down for Squirrelpaw as she watched Crowpaw break the space between him and their friends. His eyes were still thin and hollow, but his touch was tender as her rubbed affectionately between Tawnypelt and Stormfur. Somewhere, Squirrelpaw wished he could move slower.

Each one of his movements was like a drop of rain being swallowed by a voracious lake. Soon the water would spill and Squirrelpaw would be carried away in the flood.

When he stood before Brambleclaw, Crowpaw didn’t even seem to consider their history as he pressed his muzzle against the Warrior’s pelt, his eyes closed. Brambleclaw looked sadly down at the apprentice, his tail wrapping over Crowpaw’s back. It gently touched a line of scars that cascaded across the Windclan tom’s side, scars that had long since dried up and were covered by tufts of new fur.

“We must meet again soon,” Brambleclaw purred as Crowpaw pulled away; the younger tom nodded silently. Squirrelpaw’s heart lightened with hope. “At the great rock, like Midnight told us. It might not be easy to convince the leaders that we need to leave the forest. But if we’ve seen the dying warrior…”

“Why don’t we bring the leaders with us?” Squirrelpaw suggested. “They’ll have to believe us if they see the warrior too!”

The others shared a grim look. “I can’t imagine Leopardstar will agree to that.” Stormfur mused.

“Blackstar neither.” Tawnypelt added with a lash of her tail. “There’s no full moon, so there won’t be any truce between the clans.”

“But it’s important!” Squirrelpaw insisted. Surely the clans could put aside their nonsense when their own lives depended on it.

“It’s worth a try.” Brambleclaw decided. Squirrelpaw flashed him a gracious beam. “Squirrelpaw’s right. That might be the best way to share the news.”

“Okay.” Crowpaw monotoned, “We’ll meet at Fourtrees tomorrow night. With or without our leaders.”

“You can’t meet at Fourtrees!” Squirrelpaw groaned as she turned back to the impatient scowl of Webfoot, then his words caught her like prey. “There’s nothing left of it!”

A terrifying silence took hold of the journeying cats. Squirrelpaw’s entire bloodstream turned to dark ice.

“What do you mean?” Tawnypelt took a heavy step towards the Windclan cat.

Webfoot’s glare darkened, trouble edging into his face. “The clans watched the Twolegs destroy it moonrises ago, when we arrived at the Gathering. The Twolegs and their monsters ripped the trees from their roots!”

Images ripped across Squirrelpaw, the trees she had sat by so many times torn apart like they were just blades of grass. Midnight was right, destruction was on the clan’s path, and they needed to get away quickly!

“Go see it for yourselves, if you’re mouse-brained enough!” Webfoot meowed nastily. His glare twisted back to his returned clanmate. “Are you done?”

“Almost.” Crowpaw mewed, he too looked despaired by the news. They all were. Squirrelpaw’s mind was in a frantic push and shove. Her loyalty screaming at her to find her family as soon as possible, but something deeper keeping her rooted where she stood. “I still think we should meet there, even if the trees are gone.”

That sounded fine. Squirrelpaw certainly wouldn’t argue. The other’s also shared an agreed mrrow.

Crowpaw nodded once, then slowly his eyes were on Squirrelpaw.

The two friends looked at each other, silently. A wounded sensation came over the Thunderclan molly. She was so used to seeing those eyes on a morning, full of life and joy. Now they were distant and dryly grazing her. Had he also realised what this meant for their friendship?

Even if they met again tomorrow, it wouldn’t be any cause for joy.

Those times were over, Squirrelpaw realised, sadness filling her. Reality truly was pulling them back into place.

This moment was the last chance they would have to act like real friends.

Squirrelpaw braced herself to remember it. She stepped forward, ready for whatever Crowpaw had planned. The beautiful blue eyes looked at her tensely, his neck fur prickling a little, but the dark tom approached her.

Squirrelpaw offered him a smile, ready to embrace him.

The side of his muzzle lingered against hers.

In half a second it was breaking away.

In the next half a second, Squirrelpaw didn’t have any control of herself. A brief touch, a passive brush, that was going to be their farewell. She thought of all those moments he had been by her side, laughing, crying, being her closest partner every step of the journey. She thought of the devastated state she had seen him in for days, and how after this he would be left alone like that.

He would be left alone with that empty look still plastered on him.

That would be their goodbye.

This would be the moment she thought of whenever she saw him.

Empty. Alone.

No.

He wasn’t alone. He wouldn’t be now. Squirrelpaw still had that much power.

She hadn’t realised what she’d done until her paws were wrapped tenderly around his neck. She breathed him in, trying to hold onto all of him, as her nose pressed into the crook of his neck. She could just imagine how the others were looking at her, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about their unfair rules. Crowpaw was he friend, that would never change. “Take care of yourself.” She mewed into his ear, beginning to nuzzle into his neck fur.

Then she noticed how stiff Crowpaw was in her grasp, how his paws had slid over her forelegs, gently pushing them off of him. The shock that paralysed Squirrelpaw made her let herself effortlessly uncurl from him. “Squirrelpaw,” A dry voice said, “You need to go back to Thunderclan, okay?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a goodbye.

Once her paws had weakly found the ground again, she stared up wordlessly at her friend, her eyes wide with dreaded disbelief. Her heart truly broke when she saw that empty stare again. The light in the blue was gone, overtaken by a cold, misanthropic aridity. He meowed a quiet, “Good luck,” to them all, and then all Squirrelpaw saw was the dark shape of his back until he had finally disappeared over the hills.

He was gone now.

He hadn’t even paused once to look back.

Squirrelpaw didn’t even feel reality’s claws on her neck anymore.

It had been replaced by true, heartbroken horror.

Squirrelpaw didn’t stop staring until Brambleclaw nudged her. She softly looked at his sympathetic gaze, her mouth still frozen open. “Let’s go.” He mewed.

Quietly, Squirrelpaw obeyed. Her eyes trailed over to the hills again, but they were barren and cold in the air. The grass swayed gently in the growing breeze. A memory came back of tall grass; of her and Crowpaw entangled, pinning each other, laughing, so happily.

The breeze came over Squirrelpaw again, biting and cruel as freezing loss settled itself in her heart.

…

Merry Christmas everyone! Thank you all for filling this year with so much pride and joy for this story! I hope you all have a wonderful new year! Keep safe! (sorry for the angst)

#squirrelflight #crowfeather #crowsquirrel #squirrelcrow #tawnypelt #Stormfur #brambleclaw #Bramblestar #Warrior Cats #warriors fic #warriors au

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