#.so i look at every vague thing i’ve heard about lower decks and just go.

[dreamerdrop]

i haven’t started lower decks because i still haven’t gotten around to watching voyager but also.

from what i’ve seen and heard so far, i’m afraid i won’t ever recover from an obsession with that show, because all three main women seem like exactly the character archetypes that make me go absolutely feral as all fuck and they’re archetypes that i don’t normally get to see with WOMEN in fiction!

mariner is clearly some kinda depressed alchoholic badass with some obvious repressed trauma and mommy issues. (<- those might be related? i have no idea yet.) tendi seems like the kinda cute excitable nerd type that turns out to have super shady life experience nobody expects because she’s so cute and wide eyed that everyone is surprised to find out her life probably sucked for a while. so far all i’ve worked out about t’lyn is that she’s like. autistic by vulcan standards. which is definitely saying a LOT. also apparently she’s very prideful about her intelligence which is a very attractive trait on anyone really.

like. these are my favouritest favourite character archetypes and there’s three of them and they are women and they’re friends and i just don’t think i’ll ever be able to talk about anything else ever again once i start watching.

[rostovs-lover]

dalí on tuesday

charlie dalton x reader | cursing, smoking, brief mentions of sexual things, charlie (probably) has daddy issues, cameron | she/her pronouns | fluff | wc.2562

i am in love with charlie, this is now a charlie dalton centric blog, also ignore how terrible the title is please

anon : Hi!! I love your blog! can I request a charlie Dalton x reader fluff where reader is an artist and he visits them while they're painting? (maybe they end up wiping paint on his face?) I don't know, something really sweet at cute <33333

Charlie Dalton had been resigned to relish in small pleasures to keep himself sane at school, never did he think the library would be one of those. More specifically, the painter tucked into the basement of the library. 

                            ───☮︎───

     Charlie Dalton was a connoisseur of many things. Pretty girls, expensive wine, shitty poetry, and hand rolled cigarettes - to name a few. His imprisonment at Wellington made only one of those things readily available. So he settled - boxes of cheap smokes bought through upperclassmen, bottles of grocery store wine someone would sneak in from a party, and the two girls that occasionally came with Knox. The shitty poetry was always on deck, he had that at least. It was a tragedy to be resigned to such a bland life, there was absolutely no carpe diem-ing happening in a school that held adolescent boys to uniforms.

      It was miserable, truly, but Charlie scrapped by on the thought that soon enough there would be no more stuffy Catholic school and he could finally have a taste of freedom. In the meantime, he would have what little fun he could. The meets in the cave were always the highlight of the week. A place where he could talk and people would listen, and not because they had to but because they enjoyed it. They enjoyed his words and thoughts and presence. No one else had ever really seemed to enjoy Charlie’s presence. They could tolerate it, handle it, but they always had more pressing matters. A business meeting to attend, a bill to pay, a dinner to go to. Always something just a little bit more important and never quite enough time for Charlie. But the other Dead Poets, they valued him. He wasn’t just a kid, a college tuition to pay and a life to layout. He was a person, with interests and hobbies.

      It had been there, in the safe haven of the cave, that the idea for the library first came up. Meeks had already talked Pitts into coming, Neil didn’t take much convincing at all, Todd was also easy to lure, Cameron groaned about leaving school grounds but refused to be left out, and Knox agreed to go but only if Nuwanda came too. Charlie had already started to cover what there was to do at a library, read?

      Meeks dove into the technical manuals and Pitts followed tentatively, cradling their science project in his arms. Todd had followed Neil to the S authors, Cameron was trying to chat up the woman at the register, and God only knew what Knox was doing. He had been stranded with few options. He could find the geniuses and be talked over for the next hour or third wheel Neil but that guaranteed intruding on something he probably shouldn’t. The polite thing to do would be to rescue Cameron from making a complete fool of himself, throwing bad pick up lines at a clearly uninterested college student, but it was amusing to watch.

      Charlie settled on trying to find Knox, at least then he could have some company. Said company was absolutely nowhere to be found. The rows of shelves wound in a confusing maze and Charlie was lost before he could even begin to look. Weaving around he did come face-to-face with a rather large picture of Charles Dickens that made him recoil. It was perched just at eye level above a short staircase and it seemed to judge his every movement. Charlie followed the carpeted stairs down to escape Mister Dickens’ strange little beard and beady black eyes.

      The further down the steps Charlie descended the brighter it appeared. The lower level was the children’s section. Considerably more fun than science books or Shakespeare. The big oak counter was abandoned but the lights were still on. He was alone, still.

      Charlie sighed, sitting down in one of the bright red wooden chairs. He was much too big for it but it held well under his weight. A sad stuffed bear stared dully into him from the green glossy table.

      “Well hello,” He mumbled, picking it up under the arms, “And you must be?” He cleared his throat to take on a gruff baritone, “Mister... Bearington,” Charlie sighed, that was bad. He dropped the bear into his lap, “This is so stupid,”

      “Bearington?”

      Charlie shot around in the chair, tipping himself off center and stumbling to his feet, bear still clutched in his arms, “Where the hell did you come from?”

      “A few blocks over, walked here actually.” You turned back to your work. A painting. Not just a painting, Charlie realized, a mural. It stretched the length of the wall, roughly sketched in pencil and waiting to be finished.

      He blinked, “That’s good. The wall I mean,”

      “Thank you,” Your face flustered and Charlie took notice, “It’s not much of anything yet, just an outline. It’ll look better painted.”

      He took a few steps closer, sidling up to you, “What’s it supposed to be?”

      “A forest,” You pointed to a rotund blob perched on a long line, “That’s an owl, and there’s going to be a fox somewhere down in the grass,”

      Charlie grinned, “That’s an owl?”

      “That-” you tapped the blob, “Is a shape, objectively. Subjectively, it’s an owl.”

      His brow creased, “Subjectively it’s an owl? That's like saying Mister Bearington is a rabbit, subjectively,”

      You stared at him, baffled. It was almost irritating that he could so casually come down to your domain and invade your creative bubble. And it was even worse that he talked to himself as a stuffed bear but now he was challenging your judgment on what was and was not subjectively an owl. But he had a wonderful smile and it lessened the intrusion. Plus, you had never seen a teenage boy develop an attachment to a stuffed bear as quickly as he had, “What’s your name?”

      “Nuwanda,” He grinned, setting his chin atop his bear’s plush head.

      “Nuwanda?” You blinked at him, “That’s… neat. I’ve never heard that before.”

      “What can I say? The only Nuwanda this side of Vermont. What’s your name?”

      As you opened your mouth to answer several sets of footsteps thundered down the stairs. Knox spun around the corner first, closely followed by Pitts and Meeks.

      “Charlie!��� Knox called, “We gotta go before Cameron proposes to the clerk.”

      You looked at the boy in front of you, “Is Charlie short for Nuwanda, or just a nickname?”

      He shrugged, “I’m Nuwanda, subjectively. It was truly a pleasure meeting you. Can’t wait to see your thing DaVinci!” He set the stuffed bear back on the table as he made his way out of the room. With Charlie’s energy gone it became much quieter and you were plunged back into the impressionistic outline of your artwork.

      The next time a library trip was suggested Charlie didn’t completely dread it. Yes, it was still numbingly boring because it was a library and he didn’t have clerks to fall in love with, people to write love letters to, anyone to kiss in the aisles, or a spaceship to build, but he did have his own personal Van Gough to torment.

      The lower level was the first place he went, not even hanging his coat on the rack inside the big double doors. He made his way past Cameron’s preoccupied receptionist and under Dickens’ hard glower. Halfway down the steps, the smell hit Charlie. Wet paint.

      You had just picked out a brush when he pulled one of the wooden chairs next to your station. He sat in it backwards, holding Mister Bearington out in front of him, “Never got your name Monet,”

      “Well, it's not that. Or Da Vinci.” You stroked the brush up the grassy outline.

      “Do you want me to guess?”

      You had yet to look at him, “Nope,”

      “Are you gonna tell me?”

      “Should I?”

      “Obviously, I told you my name.”

      You set the brush down and turned to face him, “(Name).”

      “Pretty,”

      Charlie Dalton liked many things and the musty old library uptown had never been one of them. It had ancient red carpets and gaudy gold ceilings and it was trying too hard to look regal. So it was a sheer shock when he began to leap at the suggestion of going and even more so when he chose to go by himself one afternoon. Naturally, the other poets followed him, they had to.

      Charlie didn’t dally upstairs, waving hi to the clerk and rushing down to the children’s section. A sign was posted outside the entrance warning of wet paint but he stepped around it.

      “You’re making progress Picasso!” He set his hands on his hips and took in the wall.

      You turned back to look at him, “Did you not see the caution: wet paint, do not enter sign?”

      “Oh no I saw it,” He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head, “It's bright orange, hard to miss, really,”

      “So you just chose to ignore it?”

      He nodded, making his way over to sit by you on the ground, “I choose to ignore lots of things, it really makes life easier,”

      You shook your head, “Are you just going to sit here and bother me?”

      “Yes, that's actually the whole reason I came today, believe it or not.”

      You blubbered in vague disbelief, “Please tell me you’re not serious,”

      “Dead serious,” Charlie grinned, leaning closer, “I had to see how your weird owl was going. And also make sure you hadn’t gone mad and cut your own ear off yet,”

      “You’ve already used the Van Gogh joke, Charles,”

      “Maybe I want your ear,”

      You paused, “You… what?”

      Charlie’s confidence cracked, “That was bad. Shit, that wasn’t supposed to sound that way. It was like, a bad pickup line? Because Van Gogh cut his ear off to send to his girlfriend,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Sorry,”

      “I mean if I had to pick someone to give my ear too I guess you would be my first choice?”

      Charlie looked at you, eyebrows pinched together, “Why?”

      You shrugged, “No one else has asked, first come first serve.” You dipped your brush back into the blue paint and went to work on a patch of flowers.

      “Huh, well I do appreciate it,” Charlie scooted closer, leaning over your shoulder. He was close, very close. When you took a breath you could smell his cologne and whatever it was he used in his hair and you could feel the edge of his sunglasses brush your ear. He brought an arm around to dip his finger into the soft sky colour on your palette. And then he wiped it on your nose.

      You gasped sharply at the foreign feeling, snapping your head to the side to glare at him, “Why?!”

      Charlie snickered, leaning back, “The opportunity presented itself, how could I just let that pass?”

      You reached back, squirting a touch of purple paint over the palm of your hand, “That was truly a horrible idea,”

      Charlie shot up just as you did, stumbling backwards, “I’m sorry-” He stuck his hands up in surrender, “I regret my actions and if I could take them back I would,”

      “Hmm, but you can’t” You took a step closer, “Surrender now and it doesn’t have to get any messier than this,”

      He pointed towards your paint coated hand, “Do not,”

      You grinned, “I might,”

      “I’m begging,”

      “Fine-” You offered him your other hand, “Truce?”

      Charlie mulled it over for a moment, “Fine, truce,” He grabbed your clean hand and you used it to pull him towards you.

          “Why on earth would you trust me?” You tugged him even closer as he shrieked and smeared your hand down his cheek, “There, now we’re even,”

      Getting distracted by your triumph gave Charlie the upper hand. He pulled you to him the same you had done to him and pressed his cheek flush to yours. The paint was cold against your skin and you jolted back, away from him.

      “Vile,” You hissed, “You are vile and evil. That's so cold. You will pay, I hope you know that.”

      Charlie snorted, “Oh please, what’re you gonna do?”

      “You underestimate me, you ass, I’ll figure something out,”

      “Will you?” Charlie grinned, “I will be waiting in anticipation,”

      “You better be,”

      Meeks elbowed back into Cameron’s ribs, “You’re going to knock me over,”

      Cameron craned his neck further to peek around the corner into the children’s section, “I just want to see, let me look,”

      “Nothing is happening-” Meeks snipped, “They’re just talking now and I might be able to hear if you could can it!”

      Cameron rolled his eyes, “Of course, whatever you say,”

      “Will you shut up?” Knox batted at Cameron’s shoulder, “They’ll see us, we’re not super well hidden,”

      “If you don’t stop talking they’ll realize we’re here,” Pitts mumbled, rolling his eyes. Cameron started to rebuttal, turning to look at Gerard but the motion knocked Meeks out of place and he gasped, stumbling forwards. This did indeed draw Charlie’s attention.

      “Meeks, what the hell?” Charlie snapped. He was in a state, sunglasses askew in his hair, paint smeared from his cheekbone down to the corner of his mouth, and his shirt was wrinkled away from his collarbone.

      Meeks stared, “Hi Charlie. Are there any textbooks down here, uh… the science ones?”

      Knox groaned, stepping out from behind the wall as well, “We wanted to see why you came here on a Tuesday afternoon by yourself,”

      Charlie blubbered, “Did you all come? Is Keating there too?”

      “He could be,” Meeks shrugged.

      Charlie rolled his eyes, “Will you leave, I’ll be upstairs in a second,” The other poets nodded, scampering up the steps to the first level.

      “Assholes, should have known they’d come,” Charlie sighed, adjusting the sunglasses atop his head, “I need to go before they decide to intrude again. I’ll see you soon though, anxiously anticipating payback,”

      He was almost out the door when you bucked up the courage to call out to him, “Charlie, wait.” You let him turn back to you before continuing, “Could I have your phone number?”

      He clicked his teeth, “Don’t have one, private school. But I’ll find the library number in the books and try to shoot you a call sometime,” He winked and started back up to his friends.

      Knox was waiting at the landing with a handful of tissues, which he shoved into Charlie’s hands, “So you’re gonna read your stupid poem about tits at a Dead Poets meet and then not tell us you’ve got a girlfriend?”

      Charlie grabbed the tissues, “Not my girlfriend, I meet her like two weeks ago,”

      “Didn’t stop Knox,” Neil elbowed him.

      Charlie wiped at his face, “Well I’m not Knox. I like her painting, she's good.”

      “It looks like she was painting you,” Cameron slapped at Charlie’s chest and he threw the tissues at him in retaliation.

      “Shut up, at least my library worker actually talks to me,”

      Cameron fumbled with the dirty material, batting it away from his chest, “You dick!”

      Charlie grinned, pulling his glasses down and starting towards the door. Something about it was thrilling, having this to himself. A little secret that he and you shared. His personal Salvador Dalí, something to look forwards to besides bad tobacco and Keating’s eccentric lectures. It was bright and exciting and he felt seen. He felt important. The blue paint he had stolen from your tray was still on the tip of his pointer finger and he wondered how long it would be until he could see you again.

 ( @interwebseriesfan24 )

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Happy Half-Anniversary

It’s been exactly six months since Alastor and Sir Pentious aka Telly @usedhearts got together. Alastor remembers this! Telly does not. Alastor’s using this advantage to launch an evil surprise.

The evil surprise is a romantic dinner date.

And a very significant bit of love magic.

Alastor

Most people would consider having a partner with only a vague sense of important calendar dates to be a downside. Alastor, on the other hand, thought it was a perfect opportunity to set up a romantic evening on an extremely predictable day and still have it be a pleasant surprise.

The only risk was that Telly might get involved in something else before Alastor could launch his surprise. So to head that off:

🎶 Keep your schedule clear this evening! I'm making one hell of a dinner!

Telly

Telly had no plans, except of the evil variety. And those were more overarching, than set to a specific day or evening. So, when he got the text, he smiled.

🎩  Of course, my love! I will look forward to it. 😄

Alastor

🎶 Wonderful! Then I'll see you tonight! <https://youtu.be/JVBYDZrQqyM>

And with that, all that was left to do was prepare dinner: a five-course meal, half of the ingredients stealthily prepared over the past week so that he could get them ready as quickly as possible tonight, mixed with a quick trip to the bathroom to ensure he'd look his absolute best by the time dinner was ready. By the time he broadcast a message on the ship PA calling Telly to the kitchen, four dishes were laid out on the counter, ready to go, and the dessert nearly ready to pop in the oven.

Telly

Telly had made sure to clean up himself before it was time, knowing when his beloved partner-in-crime liked to have dinner served. He slithered into the kitchen a minute or two after being called, a smile on his face.

"Good evening, darling." He glanced at the table and let out a soft whistle. "My, my, what a spread you've prepared! What's the occasion?" He said in a joking tone.

Alastor

"Funny you should ask!" Alastor swept over to Telly with a plate of deviled quail eggs, pecked him on the lips, and then offered the plate. "Today just so happens to be our six months anniversary."

Telly

Telly had taken an egg and it was halfway to his mouth when what Alastor said fully registered. He frozen and his eyes widened, before he let out a high whine.

"Oh my god, I forgot! I'm sorry, my dear, I....you know how I am with time and dates, my apologies." He looked contrite-- even as he finally ate the deviled egg.

"Mm, these are very good," He mumbled.

Alastor

Alastor laughed. "I knew you would! Which gave me the perfect opportunity to surprise you, didn't it?" He winked, smirking impishly. Like he's just pulled off a hilarious prank instead of a romantic dinner.

"Good, I'm glad! I don't use quail eggs very often, but, *well,* I thought the occasion called for something a little less pedestrian than mere *chicken* eggs."

Telly

"Oh. Oh!" Telly perked back up and smiled, taking another egg to pop into his mouth. He laughed softly. "You're not angry that I forgot then?"

He wrapped an arm around Alastor's waist and pulled him close, kissing his cheek. "Happy Anniversary, darling, all of this looks absolutely delicious, and you certainly did surprise me!"

Alastor

"Certainly not! I know how you are, *mon roi*—if I'd needed you to remember it, I'd have been reminding you for the last three days."

He kissed Telly back and took an egg for himself. "It should be a spectacular dinner, I think! Dessert still needs to be popped in the oven, but—ah..." Suddenly self-conscious, he said, "Well, that's... I'd like to talk to you about that first, actually."

Telly

"Talk to me about dessert? I would think that by now you'd know exactly what I like." He laughed, and then slithered to take his seat at the table. Telly leaned his elbow on the table, and then set his cheek in his hand.

"What is it about this dessert that needs discussing?"

Alastor

"I should hope I do! But no, it's an extra ingredient I wonder about." He took a seat as well, reaching across the table to take Telly's hand. "So. There's some magic designed to—tie two people together. Or strengthen the tie if one already exists. Sometimes it's used to make sure a loved one comes home—my mother made me a special dinner before I shipped off to war to guarantee I'd come back, I think half the mothers in our neighborhood did. And sometimes it's used to try to ensnare somebody—that's where you get those love potions that leave a target completely obsessed."

Alastor squeezed Telly's hand. "Now, I don't think either of us needs a love potion." He laughed wryly. "But, well—we're a couple of dangerous people doing dangerous things in the most dangerous place imaginable. Deck's stacked against us. If we can get one more power out there working to keep us together and make sure we keep coming home to each other, I think we could use it. And this fits the bill." He nodded toward the unfinished batter.

"The downside is if this ever does go wrong and we need to break things off, it'll be a hell of a lot harder, and it'll hurt a lot more, because we'll have to fight against magic that's fighting to keep us together. We'd be gambling on the hope that we're never going to want to separate. And if you don't want to take that chance, that's fine, I pop dessert in the oven the way it is and we'll have a delicious chocolate loaf. But... well." He smiled crookedly, an oddly vulnerable look in his eyes. "A few months ago I wouldn't have been this kind of foolish romantic. But today I am—if you are, too."

Telly

Telly listened, his thumb rubbing against Alastor's hand where they were clasped on top of the table. His head tilted as he thought, and once Alastor was finished speaking, he let out a soft laugh.

"And you said _I_ was moving fast." He snickered again. "I jest, love. That is certainly an interesting idea. I've always thought of love potions as just the types that make someone fall in love, I didn't know they could be used for more."

He took a breath. "I think the benefits would outweigh the risks. We've conquered every hurtle so far with our various relationship issues. I think we can conquer anything else that would come our way. So, in short, yes. Let's do it. You know how security conscious I can be, so something that tipped the scales moreso in our favor, _I_ am in favor for."

He smiled brightly. "How do we do it?"

Alastor

He winced. "I know. I know it's fast." And hid his face behind his free hand. He was, in fact, embarrassed at himself. He wasn't quite betting his whole future on Telly, but he was sure betting a big chunk of it. That wasn't like him.

But Telly said yes. Alastor half-lowered his hand to watch Telly as he spoke, then finally lowered it completely when he finished. They were doing this. He squeezed Telly's hand again, beaming. "There's not much left to it. I dump in a few more herbs, we both add a few drops of blood—it could be any bits of ourselves, but I think blood's more appealing than spit and dandruff, personally—then mix it thoroughly and bake it like any other cake."

Telly

"Blood makes sense." Telly nodded, and then his face blanked momentarily as a thought burst into his head unbidden.

"I don't want to use this particular thing, but I must ask, would semen work for it? Since it is a part of us and everything. Good Lord, that's embarrassing to say, but my brain will not let me not know!" He laughed as he rose and slithered over to the counter.

Alastor

"Ha! It'd work just fine!" He joined Telly at the counter, wrapping an arm around his waist. "I've heard of girls trying to catch guys by mixing their juices in a meal for him. I've never heard of it ending well, but then it tends not to when you use magic to force someone with no interest in you to suddenly become obsessed."

He picked up a cup he'd already prepared with a mix of herbs and spices, most of them ground too small to be distinguishable except for some shreds of dried rose petals. He dumped them in the bowl, then offered a small, sharp knife to Telly that looked like it would be more at home on a witch's altar than in a kitchen. "Would you care to do the honors?"

Telly

"The honors for you, or for myself? Because I think it would be quite romantic for us to prick each others' fingers and all. Romantic and ritualistic in a way that feels thrilling to me." He took the knife and balanced it in his hands, his finger pressed against the tip to inspect the blade.

Alastor

Alastor's eyes lit up. "I meant for yourself, but I like your idea better." He tugged off a glove with his teeth and offered his hand to Telly.

Telly

Telly smiled, and then very carefully took Alastor's hands. He singled out his index finger, holding it and the knife in sure grips. Telly slowly pressed the tip of the knife into Alastor's fingertip and then squeezed it to make the blood appear. Holding it over the bowl he made sure the drops landed before pulling his lover's hand to his mouth, and sucking on it, with a grin.

Alastor

Well hello there, don't mind the sudden music when the knife pricks his finger or the way it swells when Telly slips Alastor's finger in his mouth. Alastor tightened his arm around Telly to tug him closer, pressed his face to the crook of his neck, and muttered, "You can keep the whole damn finger if you want."

Telly

Telly's tongue lapped against the fingertip, and after a few moments, he pulled it free. He took a towel from the counter and gently wiped Alastor's finger clean. He removed his own glove and offered Alastor the knife, handle first.

"Your turn," He said, voice a bit thicker than normal.

Alastor

He pecked Telly on the lips as he  took the knife. "All right..."

And then stopped. Knife to Telly's fingertip, but pressing no further. The thought of breaking the skin made his heart leap into his throat and his blood run cold.

Stupid. It was just enough for a couple of drops of blood. "Tell me if I go too far, darling." Carefully, he pressed the knife just barely hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood.

Telly

Telly only smiled, not even a wince when his finger was pricked. "You're fine, darling. It's only a pinprick, I'm fine." He moved his hand to hold it over the bowl, as he leaned in to kiss Alastor's cheek.

Alastor

"Right. Right, I know." Don't mind if he has to take a shaky breath, he's fine. He kissed Telly back more firmly, then carefully squeezed out a few drops of blood, kissed the fingertip, and slid Telly's finger in his mouth to lick the tiny wound.

Telly

Telly's breath hitched just slightly at Alastor sucking on his finger, too. He leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, purring low in his chest.

"Now it just goes in the oven?"

Alastor

How he loved the taste, but how he hated having to give Telly even the slightest harm to get it. He let go of Telly's finger and pressed a little closer to him to feel his purr. "I've got to mix it and stick it in a pan, but essentially, yes. You can take a seat and work on the hors d'oeuvres while I finish up."

Telly

Telly used the recently pricked finger to tilt Alastor's chin up, and smiled at him before he leaned in to kiss his lips. Slowly, he pulled back, whispering a soft 'I love you' against his lips before separating to go sit back at the table.

"These hors d'oeuvres are delicious, darling."

Alastor

He silently mouthed *I love you* against Telly's lips, then got to work stirring up the mix.

"Aren't they? I'll have to keep the recipe saved." He grabbed another couple of the eggs before they could all be eaten. "Dessert should be ready about the time we finish the main course, assuming we eat like normal people instead of—well—us." He laughed.

Telly

Telly laughed as well. "Yes, thankfully, I think we've gotten better at not devouring all food in sight instantly." And by 'we' he meant mostly himself.

Alastor

"I don't think I have. Hah!" He finally slid the loaf tray into the oven, took his seat across from Telly, and—with a dramatic flourish—the lights dimmed and several lit candles appeared floating over the table. Pulling out all the stops tonight.

"So!" He gestured at the other plates on the table. "We've got roasted oysters for an appetizer—which I'm *told* are an aphrodisiac, you'd have to tell me—" a wink, "—then a shrimp and watermelon salad for, well, the salad, coq au vin for the main course—and of course dessert." An *actual* five course meal, counting the deviled egg hors d'oeuvres, and Alastor was very proud of himself for that. It felt classy.

Telly

"Well, well! Never thought of shrimp and watermelon together, that'll be interesting. And I'm you'll be well aware if the oysters make me randy," He said, giggling as he reached for one. He popped it into his mouth and hummed as he chewed.

"Mm, delicious, but I expect nothing less from something made by my lovely partner-in-crime."

Alastor

"The salad's a recipe from Louisiana," he said proudly. "Or so I'm told, anyway—I didn't learn it in life, a more recent arrival brought it in.

He beamed at the praise, then took a taste himself. Delicious. "I had to sneak to Earth during my lunch break to get all the shellfish. I think it was worth it!"

Telly

"Well worth it. You spoil me with surface foods, it's delightful." He winked at Alastor. He took another oyster, and smiled.

"Any other plans for us other than dinner, darling? I'm yours all night, you know."

Alastor

Check out that utterly sappy look on his face. Who would have thought it was possible with all those fangs. "I like spoiling you."

He took another for himself. "Well, you tell me how those oysters treat you and that might decide our plans." He laughed. "But no—just dinner and the potion, that's all I planned. The rest of the night is free."

Telly

Telly laughed, a nice and loud one, nearly a cackle but not quite. "Well then, I suppose we'll see where things head after dinner-- if I'm not too full to get up to other activities." He purred and took Alastor's hand across the table.

"This was a wonderful surprise, darling. Thank you."

Alastor

"And I hope I'll be able to give you many more." He squeezed Telly's hand. "If you think this is something, imagine what we'll get up to for our real anniversary!" What *were* they going to get up to? He had no idea yet.

"Say! Speaking of planning ahead, do you know what's only a few months away?"

Telly

He smiled and squeezed Alastor's hand. He ate another oyster-- they were almost gone now. "What?" He asked, head tilting.

Alastor

"Mardi Gras!" He's planning WAY ahead. "As stupendous as our last costumes wore, imagine what we can do if they're not last minute! Now's the perfect time to start working on them!"

Telly

"Oh, yes, having more time to plan for that would be wonderful. But what about our plans to get throw away costumes and toss colored swamp water balloons at people?" He grinned, the expression filled with mischief and evil.

Alastor

"Right!" His eyes lit up. "We can do both. Throw away costumes to ruin everyone else's night, and then switch into our nice costumes. Act like we arrived late after the miscreants ran out of balloons and fled."

Telly

Telly giggled wildly. "Oh, very good! How dastardly we will be." He winked.

"Well, I chose the theme last time, so I think it's only fair that you'd get to pick this time."

Alastor

"Won't we! Everyone's going to be miserable but us!" Alastor finished off the last oyster, then slid over his salad plate. "*Well.* I'll tell you what I'm *not* going to do, I'm not going to wear anything that even slightly resembles a *Hamilton* character." He propped his chin in his hand thoughtfully. "You know—I've always been fond of jester costumes at Mardi Gras, but I can't remember the last time I wore one I'd actually put real effort into. Maybe a jester and his king?" A wink. "Or queen, if you want to do drag again? Assuming you won't be embarrassed to be seen with a clown!"

Telly

"Well, proper court jesters were more than just mere clowns, there are some that were known for their acerbic wit! And isn't the jester's job to be sure to please and amuse their monarch?" Telly winked. He started to eat some of the salad-- his face taking a brief journey at the flavors before landing on pleased.

"I think Queen would work better, just from a logistical standpoint, with my tail."

Alastor

"Oh, I know." For a moment there's something dark in Alastor's smile. "There's a special kind of power in being the only person in the room who can sass the king. Not that I want to sass *you,* darling! But, well. Some people have ambitions to be royalty—personally, *I'd* like to be the one person that not even the royalty can touch."

He watched Telly's face closely until his face journey was completed. Good, he liked it! Alastor took a bite himself. "Then a queen you'll be!"

Telly

"We should pick some suitably fancy colors for the outfits as well. Gold will be a must, I think." He winked, taking another bite of the salad.

Alastor

"Oh, gold is *absolutely* necessary. We could go for the traditional Mardi Gras colors and throw in green and purple—nobody would give our palette any points for originality, but...?"

Telly

"Hm...Maybe add in some black to offset the brighter colors as well, tie it into my natural color pallette! Maybe by then, I could change the pink of my eyes to a purple or green to go along with it." He smiled brightly.

Alastor

"I like the pink of your eyes." He batted his eyelashes adoringly, playing up the besotted lover. "You're the only person I know who makes pinkeye look good."

Telly

"I know you do, darling, but the costume's demands are what they will be." He batted his eyes back. He finished his salad and hummed.

"I think it's time for the main course!"

Alastor

The plates magically slid themselves in place. "I do like that idea—purple, green, gold, and black."

Telly

"It sounds like a plan. What era of royalty would we be styling ourselves after? I suppose a French look would be better considering." He shrugged, and started in on the main course. An almost obscene noise came from him at the first taste.

"This is delicious," He said, taking another bite.

Alastor

His smile threatened to split his face in half. There was *nothing* better than watching Telly eat the meal Alastor had lovingly prepared for him and hearing how much he enjoyed it.

"I don't do chicken nearly enough. But I had a nice Burgundy on hand, so I thought, well, why not mix things up for a special occasion?" He tasted his own. Not bad at all. "Now, this is the part where the American in the room admits he doesn't know the first thing about different royalty eras. You could slap an ermine coat and a crown on anybody and tell me 'That's the fourth king of Prussia, 1305 to 1324!' and I'd say 'Your Majesty!'"

Telly

Telly laughed, shaking his head a bit. "Well then, I suppose you'll have to do some research! I'm afraid I was never one to pay attention to the royalty of the time, I was too busy. But I heard the era right before the revolution was interesting aesthetically." He shrugged a bit, then took another bite.

Alastor

"We'll have to look into it! And see who had the fanciest jesters. As long as I get to wear the little bell hat, I won't compromise on that!"

Telly

"Well, of course you get a little bell hat, you wouldn't be a jester without it!" Telly laughed, taking another bite.

"Did you want to check on the cake, love?"

Alastor

"It's on a timer!" He said this so proudly. Look at him with his timers for his cakes. Makes him feel like an adult who's got his shit together.

... But now that Telly asked he was paranoid. He leaned over to the oven, pulled it open a crack, and peered in. "It looks fine!" And shut it. "It should be just a few more minutes."

Telly

"Time enough for me to finish this off then," He said, smiling. He hummed as he continued to take bites.

Alastor

"Exactly as I planned it!" And he turned his attention to finishing his own plate as well.

Telly

A few more bites, and Telly finished, sighing in delight. "That was a most delicious meal, my darling. And the cake will be a lovely end to it."

Alastor

"I hope so! Niffty certainly didn't complain about the recipe!" A thoughtful pause. "Although I never heard back from that young man she was trying to enthrall." A shrug! No news is good news, probably.

Telly

Telly let out a cackle. "Oh, so you used her as a test subject, eh? How unethical of you." The grin on his face made it clear he enjoyed that bit.

Alastor

"*Au contraire*, she *volunteered!*" He grinned wickedly. "Now, that boy she's had wrapped around her finger the last few days—*he* was a test subject."

Telly

"An unethical test subject! Be still my beating heart!" Telly laughed, dramatically putting the back of his hand on his forehead as he grinned. "You're so dastardly, darling!"

Alastor

"Now, I've done plenty of unethical things in my time; but the *test subjects*—" he leaned across the table to give Telly an adoring look, "—I learned that from *you*, my darling."

Telly

"I'm glad to be such an evil influence, my love." He leaned over and kissed him.

Alastor

Alastor kissed back. He's gonna get his coat on one of the dirty plates and he doesn't care.

Telly

Without breaking the kiss, Telly left his seat and slithered around the table. Settling on his coils, he tugged Alastor closer.

Alastor

*Flexible.* Alastor sank down onto Telly's coils and slid an arm around his shoulders, leaning into the kiss.

Telly

It seemed those oysters were working, because Telly couldn't get enough of Alastor's mouth, tongue flicking in and out. His arms tightened around him.

Alastor

It must be the oysters, because Alastor had them too and he's just as hungry for Telly's mouth. He shifted on Telly's tail, readjusting himself so he could wrap his legs around him instead—

—the oven timer went off—

—and Alastor's footing slipped mid-adjustment, he slid off Telly's coils, and landed on his butt on the floor.

Telly

Telly didn't react in time to catch him, and indeed, was rather stunned to find himself without a deer in his arms a second after he'd been kissing him. He let out a startled laugh and covered his mouth in surprise.

"Oh, darling, are you okay?" He asked, leaning down to help him up.

Alastor

"Please!" He turned his face away, hand held to his forehead. "Don't witness me in my moment of indignity!" Yeah, he's fine.

He accepted Telly's hand, but mainly to kiss it. He got back to his feet, brushed himself off, and turned to the oven. "But, more importantly!" He opened the oven, grabbed a toothpick off the counter to stick in the cake, and examined it when he pulled it out. "Looks done to me!"

Telly

Telly laughed, standing back to his full height as Alastor checked the cake. "Well then, it should cool for a bit, yes? I don't think we want to sear off all our tastebuds with cake that's too hot."

Alastor

"Right you are!" He pulled on an oven mitt to slide the cake out and set it on the stove. It was obviously chocolatey, but sitting in a pan shaped like a bread loaf, and a sprinkling of rose petals on top of the loaf. The petals hadn't come out quite as aesthetically as Alastor had hoped, but then he was a chef, not an artist. It was visible. It got the point across.

Telly

Telly wrapped his arms around Alastor from behind, kissing his cheek and then down his jaw. "I think we have time for a little fooling around while it cools."

Alastor

For a brief moment, Alastor was struck with amazement at the seemingly hypnotic power that libidos held over most human beings, his own beloved included. And then he mentally shrugged and went *eh, sure, why not.*

He turned around in Telly's arms, a disembodied song starting up as he pressed their foreheads together. "Oh..." A nip at Telly's lip. "Maybe just a little time."

Telly

Telly purred, sliding the two of them sideways, so they wouldn't wreck the cake. And then he lifted Alastor onto the counter, slotting his hips between Alastor's legs.  His hand cupped the side of his head as he kissed him.

Alastor

Oh—he liked when Telly lifted him really a lot more than he probably should. He hooked his ankles together behind Telly's tail, hugged him loosely, and hummed along with his own music into the kiss.

Telly

Telly laughed a bit into the kiss, mostly at the humming. His hands slid down Alastor's back, and stroked the tip of his tail. He nipped at Alastor's lips, purring deeply.

Alastor

His tail swished contentedly back and forth on the countertop, brushing Telly's fingers. He took the nip as an invitation and deepened the kiss, seeking out Telly's tongue.

Telly

Said tongue welcomed him, flicking into Alastor's mouth. His fingers continued to play with the tip of the tail, as his own tailtip slid up to wrap around Alastor's leg.

Alastor

You know, he thought he could stay right here for a while. He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, "Happy half anniversary," and then sank back in.

Telly

Telly got out a 'Happy' in return before his words were swallowed again by Alastor's kiss. He moaned softly against his lips, purring deep in his chest.

Alastor

Well, Alastor should *hope* Telly was happy.

As far as Alastor was concerned, he could keep this right up without change either until Telly got bored with simply making out or until the chocolate loaf had time to cool.

Telly

And Telly was nowhere near bored. He could kiss Alastor all night if they could, and certainly until the loaf was cool enough to eat. They'd have time for more vigorous activities later.

Alastor

Several songs and quite a bit of snogging later, Alastor surfaced from the haze of Mouth with a heavy blink like he was emerging from a hypnotic trance. "Mm—we should... check the..." He pointed toward the cake.

Telly

Telly, equally as out of it, blinked and then nodded. "Yes....the...." He turned his head, as if to remind himself by looking at it. "Cake."

Alastor

"The *cake.*" There was the word. "The *magic* cake." All right, get that fuzz out of his head, time to think straight again. He unhooked his ankles and leaned over to prod the cake pan. "Well, it *feels* cool enough." He pulled out a tray to set the cake on once he'd freed it from its pan.

Telly

"Mm, does it? Good, good." Telly stayed a bit dazed, one hand resting on Alastor's hip. "Do you know what it's going to feel like when we eat it?"

Alastor

"Probably not like anything, really. Unless you're *very* sensitive to magic, which I don't think you are yet." He pulled out a couple more plates and a knife to cut the cake. "If we barely knew each other and one of us was using it to try to force infatuation out of the other, oh, the victim would feel *that.* But since we're already together, it should be more subtle. Imagine if two rocks are already touching each other and then suddenly they turn into magnets. You probably won't notice a change unless you try to pull them apart."

Telly

"Ah, I see." Telly hummed and smiled. "We should feed each other the first bites, just like how we pricked each others' fingers. A nice parallel."

Alastor

Alastor gave Telly the *sweetest* smile. "Someday they're going to make a movie about us, and we're going to have to play ourselves because nobody else will be romantic enough." He pulled over the plates and broke off a bite-sized chunk of one slice. "And we'll be the villains in our own movie, too. All right, at the same time?"

Telly

"Yes, at the same time." Telly grinned, picking a piece off the other slice. He held it out for Alastor to take a bite, and opened his mouth for his own.

Alastor

Part of him still couldn't believe he was doing this. He held out Telly's bite. "Here's to you and me forever." He took his own and kissed Telly's fingertips.

Telly

"Forever," Telly repeated, closing his mouth around his bite, his tongue flicking against Alastor's fingers. He pulled back to chew it and swallow, then grinned.

Alastor

That was that. It was done. Did he feel any different? Some butterflies in his stomach, but he was pretty sure that was from his nervousness, not the cake.

"It's a little on the sweet side." But then he'd flavored it with Telly's tastes in mind.

Telly

"Very sweet, yes. Just like you." He grinned and kissed Alastor. He'd been right, Telly didn't feel any different, which he supposed was a good thing.

Alastor

Kiss! "And here I thought I'd taste a little funny! Like the jester I am." He laughed and fished out a couple of forks for them to finish their slices. "We're going to have to lock the rest of the cake up. Imagine if one of the eggs got hold of it."

Telly

"Ha! I think their feelings towards me would be unchanged, but I doubt you'd want them infatuated with you too!" He grinned and picked up his plate. He took one of the forks from Alastor, and started eating the rest of his slice.

Alastor

"The halls would be filled with scrambled eggs. I wouldn't be able to stop myself." He laughed.

Telly

Telly snorted and laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised, not one bit!" He leaned in to kiss Alastor's cheek.

Alastor

And a return kiss—which left a few crumbs on Telly's cheek. Alastor licked them off without hesitation. A real romantic.

Telly

Telly chuckled. "Once we're finished with the cake, I think we should retire to the bedroom." He leaned in to whisper in Alastor's ear. "I wish to know you carnally," he said, but he couldn't finish the sentence without giggling.

Alastor

Good thing Telly was laughing, because Alastor cracked up immediately, kicking his heel against the cabinet doors. "Would you! Is that what you want! And I suppose you'd like to know me in the Biblical sense as well?" He managed to control his laughter just enough to seductively murmur back, "I think I'd like to know *you* a little better, too." Although he immediately started giggling again.

Telly

Telly laughed harder, wrapping an arm around him. He leaned over to kiss him, even as he still laughed. "Oh darling, I love you."

Alastor

Kiss! "I love you, too."

Then he leaned back to pop the last bit of cake in his mouth. "Shall we?" The dirty plates moved themselves off the table to the sink, and a cake lid drifted down out of a cabinet to cover the remaining cake.

Telly

"Yes, I think we shall!" Telly scooped Alastor off the counter, carrying him bridal style toward their bedroom. "What a lovely halfway Anniversary we've had. Thank you, darling."

Alastor

Someday he was going to get used to being scooped up. Today was not that day. He immediately flung an arm around Telly for support. "Thank *you* for—you know—making it possible."

Telly

"Well, one good thing about my lack of memory in regards to dates, you'll always be able to surprise me!" He laughed, giving Alastor a kiss.

"Now, we shall adjourn to the bedroom!" And off he slithered.

Alastor

"I meant for keeping me around for six months. Can't have an anniversary without a partner-in-crime."

He kissed Telly back. Off to the bedroom they go.

[thesearchforbluejello]

Imagine a "Star Trek: Lower Decks" style sitcom in the Stargate universe. Stargate: SG-47... the crew that follows up on all the really boring planets SG-1 goes to once and never again. They always debrief with Walter instead of the General. They annoyed the Nox once and now they show up to pull pranks on SG-47 in revenge. Minor Goa'ulds catch them and are depressed they're not SG-1 or someone more important so they just release them.

My notifications ate this ask; I don't know when it's from, but I'm just seeing it now. Please accept this totally unedited bullshit fic as my apology and thanks for how hard this ask made me laugh. I'm definitely not supposed to be writing a final right now. And I know you said minor Goa'uld but like I couldn't resist this opportunity. Also, me, using a minific to talk about my obsession with what the hieroglyphs in a Goa'uld ship could be? More likely than you think.

​A Soldier, a Linguist, a Botanist, and a Biologist Walk into a Ha'tak

Major Lissa Cannon emerges from the event horizon into the bright, clear sunlight of P4X-737. She takes a deep breath and immediately sneezes. "Great," she says.

Dr. Jess Abubakar passes her on the right, heading down the stone stairs of the gate platform without hesitation. "Better get used to it," he says with a cheerfulness that she doesn't-- and any reasonable person wouldn't-- share.

"Jess, I swear to God," Dr. Beth Rosenberg says as she follows him down the steps.

"You're just salty you have to help us collect samples," Jess counters, more affable than Cannon would have expected anyone to be before she actually started working with him.

Beside her, Dr. Chris Richardson just gives a wry smile before heading down the stairs after their teammates. Cannon sneezes again.

"It's the pollen!" Jess says as she joins the group. "Initial samples brought back by SG-1 indicate that it's at least twice as potent as anything we have on Earth."

"How is that a good thing," Cannon gripes even though she'd sat through the briefing and already listened to Jess and Bill Lee go on about how important it could prove to be.

"I mean, just think of the possibilities!" Jess says, more than happy to repeat himself. "We could synthesize new antihistamines, or even make existing ones more effective. We could develop new crops that are potentially more resistant to blights or unfavorable growing conditions."

"Yay," Beth says, drier than the climate on this planet has likely ever been.

"You're just mad because there are no indigenous people here to talk to," Cannon points out.

"You could talk to the plants," Jess says.

"Studies have proven that talking to plants encourages growth," Chris adds, soft-spoken as always.

"I'm not talking to the plants," Beth says.

"Why not?" Cannon asks. "With this much pollen in the air, after a few hours they might start talking back."

"Oof, like when SG-7 was on P8Q-984," Jess laughs. "That's not an experience I want to have for myself."

"Those were spores, not pollen," Chris corrects amiably as the team starts into the forested area beyond the field in which the gate sits.

"Sentiment's the same," Jess says.

Cannon hears a rustle in the undergrowth and raises her P-90, her team stopping immediately in defensive positions behind her. After a moment of nothing but birdsong and her own breathing, she relaxes. "Must've been an animal," she says.

"SG-1's initial exploration didn't indicate any indigenous animals on the ground," Beth says.

"Well, that's why we get their leftovers, because everything is just 'initial,'" Cannon points out. She takes the lead as they continue between the trees, rifle still ready in her hands just in case.

"Bloodthirsty squirrels is not on my extraterrestrial exploratory bucket list," Jess says.

"Yeah, mine neither," Cannon agrees. She's barely got the sentence out of her mouth when she hits a force field, face-first. "Motherfucker," she tries to say, a natural reaction, but the syllables come out muddled because her face is suddenly very numb. She drops to a knee and raises her rifle, looking for whatever danger has to be in the forest with them. Around her, her team drops the specimen cases they'd been carrying and raise their own weapons. They're not armed for this; SG-1's previous mission and the UAV surveys hadn't revealed anything dangerous enough to warrant coming through armed with anything more than Cannon's P-90, a couple of flash-bangs, and an assortment of 9mils and zats carried by her and her teammates. Except for Cannon, they're scientists, not soldiers.

"Lower your weapons," a voice commands from the trees.

"You lower your force field," Cannon calls back.

"I think not." Around them, Jaffa begin to materialize from the forest.

"Fuck," Cannon says.

*

The Jaffa strip them of their gear, tossing their vests, holsters, and packs in a careless pile on top of the specimen cases they'd dropped when the force field had initially gone up. They're surprisingly respectful about it, which Cannon almost laments because she's pissed off and ready to fight, even if she knows it's a fight she won't win. She watches their gear disappear from view in a flash of light as they're beamed up to a ship she knows must be waiting above.

Gold walls and a polished floor illuminated by dim lights materialize around them. Another group of Jaffa is waiting. One of their captors reports to a man Cannon assumes is his superior. She tries to pick of bits and pieces she recognizes from the language but doesn't get much.

"Wait," Beth says, "can you say that again? That's word isn't in the lexicon we've been developing."

The Jaffa looks at her sidelong in confusion before his superior barks an order.

"This way," he says. The Jaffa behind them push the team roughly forward.

"Yeah, I heard him," Cannon says, her face still numb and her words muddled, "relax."

They spend the next several hours sitting in a cell. Beth whips a notebook out of one of the pockets of her pants and starts making notes on the glyphs in their cell.

"Does that actually say anything?" Jess asks. "I've never been on a Goa'uld ship before."

A chorus of variants on "yeah, me neither" precede Beth's answer.

"It does, actually, though most of it just repeats. A lot of it is just vague, seemingly formulaic stories of someone's victories and conquering and blah blah blah, but the name has been chiseled out," she says, tapping a glyph that's clearly been destroyed deliberately.

Cannon turns her head against the wall from where she's sulking with her arms wrapped loosely around her knees. "Why?"

"My best guess? Whoever owns this ship now stole it from another Goa'uld and had their name erased. Think damnatio memoriae."

"Huh," Jess says, setting his hand of cards down to Chris's obvious annoyance. "But they kept the part about the victories?"

"Why not? Obviously they had someone spend all the time necessary to do this to the whole ship, so keeping the rest saved a hell of a lot of work. Plus, if they bested the guy this ship used to belong to, that's quite a flex." Beth shrugs and goes back to writing in her notebook. Jess picks up his cards again and Cannon can tell by the barest quirk of Chris's lips that they have the winning hand.

"You know what I'm thinking about right now?" Cannon says. "Mashed potatoes."

"Ugh, the mashed potatoes in the mess taste like plastic," Beth says without looking away from the wall.

"I know; once I start eating them, they're so disgusting I just can't stop myself. It's like the flavor gets grosser with every bite."

"They're not bad with the roast beef," Chris says.

"That's because the roast beef is the only palatable thing the mess serves besides jello," Jess points out.

"It was lemon chicken today," Cannon sighs. She rests her head against the wall again. "My vest had all my granola bars. What could these guys possibly want with us," she complains.

"Do you think they've realized that we're only number 47 because they want any potential enemies to think there are more SG teams than there really are?" Jess asks.

"I don't know," Cannon says stiffly, "but say that again a little louder and I'm sure they will."

Jess holds his hands up in placation, tipping his cards towards Cannon. Chris is about to destroy him with that hand.

"Well," Cannon sighs, "the good news is that I can feel my face again."

Heavy footfalls sound in the hallway and Cannon stands, shifting her weight to ease the stiffness in her legs. Beth hurriedly stuffs her notebook back in her pocket and Chris and Jess shove the cards into the pocket of Jess's pants.

"You will come with us," the Jaffa says.

"Sure," Cannon says as she leads her team after him. "I don't suppose you guys have any snacks on board this thing? You've got to eat, right?" He doesn't answer. "Didn't your mom ever teach you to share?"

The Jaffa ignores her and leads them into an open room with a throne at the fall wall. Ba'al surges to his feet as they enter. "Fool," he spits at the Jaffa beside him, who Cannon recognizes as the leader of the group that had captured them. "This isn't SG-1."

"My lord--"

"Who are you?" Ba'al interrupts.

"Major Lissa Cannon, leader of SG-47," she says, raising her chin.

"Forty-seven," Ba'al says in disbelief.

"We're a science team; we were studying the flora of P4X-737 when you so rudely interrupted."

Ba'al just looks at her. "You're scientists."

Jess raises his hand. "Doctor."

"Doctor," Chris agrees.

"Major," Cannon says with a shrug.

"Doctor," Beth says.

"I've seen this episode of M*A*S*H," Chris says.

"I did also once make a baking soda volcano for a sixth-grade science fair," Cannon adds.

Ba'al sits back on his throne, crossing one leg over the other and resting his elbows on the arms, looking the picture of a carefree megalomaniac.

"Bring them back to the surface," he orders the Jaffa with a lazy wave of his hand, without so much as raising his arm from the throne. "Finish studying your plants," Ba'al says, "I have no use for you."

"That's kind of rude," Cannon says.

*

The Jaffa drop them on the planet's surface and beam back up to the ship. Cannon pulls her vest off the pile, slings it over her shoulders, and pulls a granola bar out of the pocket. She rips it open and stuff it into her mouth, chewing as she zips her vest and secures her holsters around her legs.

"That was easier than I expected," Beth admits.

"Sometimes I think the only reason the Goa'uld try to capture SG teams is just because SG-1 pisses them off so much," Jess adds.

Cannon snorts at that. "Let's get our samples and haul it back to the gate before the mess runs out of mashed potatoes."

"You realize that's extremely unlikely, right?" Chris deadpans.

Cannon shrugs and stuffs the wrapper of her granola bar into her pocket. "Even so, let's get a move on."

[ashdumpsterpile]

ao3

It’s a sexy, sexy day when Beckett gets her promotion to the Cerritos.

She’s been a lower decks officer on the USS Vulker for six slutty years and it’s been the closest thing to paradise that she’s experienced since that time Marvin tried to snort Dorito dust and ended up summoning an ancient wish giving god when he sneezed it out on an alien substance Dr. L’Vertiss was analyzing as a possible cure for the parasites that were infecting the Academy.

Being a lower decks officer meant three things: contraband, causal hookups and constant disrespect of Starfleet Protocol. Everything Beckett wanted in a career. Fortunately, the Vulker was the bottom of the barrel when it came to starships, so they weren’t exactly looking too close to her record. Which was fine by Beckett, who was trying to fly under the radar ever since her mother had demoted her so hard, she’d ended up on a whole other ship, quadrants away from the Cerritos.

Thanks Mom.

So anyway, it’s a sexy, sexy day when her mother calls her, mainly because she’d just gotten out of alien jail and gotten a cool tat out of the deal, but also because she hasn’t heard for her mother in a while and, okay, maybe she misses her just a little bit. Even if she’s probably calling for Not Good Reasons.

Beckett flips her comm open and steels herself to get yelled at for whatever.

“I’m retiring,” are not the words Beckett is expecting. She squints suspiciously at her comm, vaguely concerned that a shapeshifter has replaced her mom.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not.”

“Beckett—”

“You love being Captain and sitting in the chair and telling Ransom to stop giving himself sexy eyes in every reflective surface! Why would you retire?”

Her mom pinches the bridge of her nose, looking tired. “This is why I wanted to tell you in person—”

“Tell me what in person—”

“—Shaxs is dead.”

Beckett stops walking. Blinks down at her comm. Once. Twice. “What.”

“So is half the crew. This is less of me retiring and more of me…cutting my losses before Starfleet officially demotes my ass.”

Beckett’s day is slowly turning into an unsexy day. “And you’re just letting them!? You’ve been a Captain for what—”

“Beck—”

“Fifteen years and a Starfleet Officer for even longer! They can’t demote you—”

“They can and they will. Look,” Mom sighs. “They’re putting together a new crew as soon as the Cerritos is given the clear. There’s barely anyone left from the main crew who even wants to stay after this mess.”

“What happened?”

“That’s classified,” Mom says, which Beckett takes to mean hack my official report if you want to know. “And don’t go digging for it,” she adds.

Beckett resists pouting, only because the situation is so. Weirdly serious.

“I’m not calling you because of that, however. Ransom is being transferred to the Titan. It’s only thanks to his initiative and Officer Boimler’s quick thinking that we’re even alive right now.”

The sound of the warp core, buzzing in the background, seems too loud, all of the sudden. Beckett swallows, feeling sick.

“Officer Boimler is being promoted to Captain. I’ve recommended you as his First Officer.”

Beckett doesn’t realize she’s laughing until she starts choking from it. A group of ensigns, clustered at the end of the hallway she’s standing in, give her weird looks before quickly vacating the area.

“That,” she says, once she’s caught her breath, “is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

Mom gives Beckett her Captain™ face.

“I’m an ensign. Lower decks. Bottom of the barrel.” Beckett continues, grinning. “Not officer material.”

“Top of your class. Present in the Dominion War. Only gets demoted because she cares more about people than rules.” Mom gives a smug smile. “Perfect match for the Cerritos.”

There’s a weird, hot pressure in the corner of Beckett’s eyes. “Mom.”

“Boimler has a stick up his ass, he could use someone who loosens him up a little. Pays less attention to protocol,” Mom adds.

Beckett shakes her head, smiling. “I’d give him a heart attack a week in.”

“I’m counting on it. At least think about it, will you? And for god’s sake, go shower. I can see the filth on you, light years away.”

Beckett laughs, but this time it’s real. “Yeah Mom, I will.” Then, “I’m glad you like. Didn’t die or whatever.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Thank you, problem child. So am I. I’ll take to you later.”

The connection blacks out, leaving Beckett staring at her own dim reflection in the screen.

She does look like shit. Maybe a shower isn’t a bad idea after all.

_____

The letter stays in her inbox for six unslutty days before she finally clicks on it. Turns out, even though Mom is no longer a Captain, her recommendation must’ve meant something because there it is, a nice, shiny, transfer request.

It’s signed Captain Brad Boimler and that is where Beckett draws the line because she is not working for someone named Brad.

Maybe if you had been on the Cerritos, Shaxs wouldn’t have died, a snide voice sounds in her brain. Beckett immediately shuts that voice down because that’s fucked up and she didn’t go through four years of Starfleet mandated therapy to still be fucked up.

(She’s still kinda fucked up, but that’s okay.)

Dad finally starts spamming her inbox—and she really wants to know how Mom got him on her side, they’ve barely spoken since the divorce—so Beckett, with great reluctance, reviews the transfer request again.

It’s bullshit.

“This is bullshit,” she tells Dad.

“I know, but if I have to get one more message from your mother, demanding why you haven’t taken the position—”

“Okay, fine I’ll do it, but only because I want to see why Mom promoted Brad to Captain.”

_____

Mom either promoted Brad to Captain because he was that good of a suck up or because his hair is super distracting. Either way, Beckett is two seconds away from saying fuck this shit and demoting her own ass back to the Vulker.

He walked through the door like a minute ago and she’s already had him pegged. His clothes are neatly pressed, hair perfectly coiffed, and his hands nervously flutter around, as if he’s unsure what he should be doing with them. He can’t have been an officer longer than a few months before he was promoted Captain, that’s for sure. Beckett literally has no idea what Mom was thinking when she gave him the chair.

She waves him down toward her table.

Brad takes one look at her unbuttoned collar, nonregulation boots, and unkempt hair and sighs. “Captain Freeman recommended you?” his voice is disbelieving.

“That’s the word, my dude.” Beckett leans back, eyeing him over the half empty glass of whiskey she’s been nursing. “Captain Brad, take a seat,” she says, in her Serious voice.

Captain Brad sits across from her. “It’s Captain Boimler, actually.”

“Brad’s fine.”

His eye twitches. “Officer Mariner—”

“Ensign,” she interrupts, cheerfully.

Brad pauses. Blinks. She gestures to the single pin in her collar.

“Oh. Wait. What?”

“Yeah, I was lower decks on the Vulker before Captain Freeman emotionally blackmailed me into meeting with you.”

She snaps her fingers at the bartender and gestures toward Brad while she waits for the man in question to process the fact that a lower decks ensign was being offered a First Officer promotion.

It, surprisingly, takes only a few seconds before he bounces back. “I didn’t have time to look at your file,” he admits, sounding a bit frustrated. “I’m usually more on top of my work but—”

“Don’t sweat it, Bradthaniel. If you’d read my file, I seriously doubt you’d have agreed to meet with me.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You kill an Admiral or something?”

“Or something,” she agrees, mind flashing back to all of the redacted and classified sections of her file. The bartender places a glass of purple liquid in front of Brad and refills Beckett’s drink. Beckett salutes him lazily with her glass. “I’m more interested in you. How’d you land a captaincy at, what, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-nine,” he grits out, as if that still isn’t weirdly young to be that high in the chain of command. “How’d you get Freeman to recommend you?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” she flips her ponytail obnoxiously. “She called me.”

“Sure.”

“What, am I not ‘First Officer Material?’” she mocks, wrapping finger-quotes around her words.

He rolls his eyes. “No offense—”

“Complete offense already taken—”

“But you are the least promotable person I’ve ever met.”

Beckett grins. “Now you’re getting it. We got a Bridge Crew yet?”

“I—” he blinks at her for a moment. “I’m still trying to put the rest of the Bridge Crew together, but it’s been insane lining up schedules and—”

“Leave it to me.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s my job. You manage me, I manage the crew. I’m basically a glorified secretary now.”

Brad looks like he’s seeing an error screen in front of his eyes. “So, you’re taking the job,” he concludes, voice hilariously defeated.

“Someone needs to make sure my M—uh, Captain Freeman’s ship doesn’t blow up.”

“I handled it fine the first time.” He rolls his eyes carelessly, which kind of pisses her off.

She gives him a smile. Knows it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Tell that to the 567 casualties.”

His face goes very pale. An incredible feat considering his already milky complexion. She can’t tell if he’s angry or about to cry. “Shut up. You weren’t even there, how would you know—"

“Yeah, you were there, so why the fuck didn’t you do something?” she hisses. All she can see is Shaxs’ scarred face in the back her head. She’d been a pain in the Bridge Crew’s asses, but most of them had been genuinely upset when she’d been transferred.

“You’re a pain in my ass, but you’ve got guts,” Shaxs had admitted once, looking impressed, which was his way of saying you’re fucking adopted go do 200 pushups.

Beckett has seen a lot of death in her 26 years, but this one hurts because this is her Mom’s family. Half of them are dead and she wasn’t there and fucking Brad was.

Fucking Brad is still staring at her, eyes unreadable, mouth set in a hard line. He snatches up the file and flips it open, fingers deftly shuffling through the printed-out paper documents she’d complied last night. “I’m overseeing ship repairs tomorrow. 0500 hours. Be there.”

“Wait what?” Beckett hears herself say, aware that she’s gaping at him.

“I’ll have to run these through background checks before I can approve them for transfer, and I’d like to meet with them in person before I make any decisions.”

“Dude.”

“What,” he snaps, eyes meeting hers defiantly.

“You’re seriously approving my transfer?”

“Do you not want me to?” his brow furrows in confusion.

“You called me the ‘least promotable person’ like ever! I just like insulted the fuck out of you!” she whisper-shrieks. “You’re supposed to get mad and tell me to fuck off back to whatever corner of the galaxy Freeman dragged my ass out of, not make me your First Fucking Officer.”

“Well I’m not. Congratulations First Officer Mariner, you’re expected to report for duty—”

“Oh fuck you—”

“On the Cerritos three weeks from now during her relaunch.”

Beckett is on the verge of stabbing this bastard in the eye with his own stylus. “But why?”

Brad pauses, halfway out of his seat, hands still clenched tightly around the file. “Why what?”

“Don’t be fucking coy, why are you approving my transfer, you absolute nugget,” she hisses.

“Captain Freeman recommended you.”

“Are you seriously that much of a suck up—”

“The Cerritos isn’t that great of a starship, but Captain Freeman is a good captain,” Brad interrupts. “We went through some real shit together. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. The least I can do is honor her last request.”

And with that, Brad stands up and sweeps out of the bar.

“Dramatic exits are my thing!” she shouts after him.

_____

She’s pissed, mostly because Brad had the actual audacity to approve her transfer, but also because how fucking dare he be an actual nice person?

Okay, maybe not a nice person, she decides, as she crawls out of bed at 4 fucking thirty am. Morning people are hell spawn, but he’s a decent person.

Whatever, it’s not as if she’s going to start liking him or trying to be his friend or whatever.

“If it doesn’t work out, I can get myself demoted in like two days,” she decides, out loud, tying her hair out of her eyes. Her reflection stares back at her, tired.

So of course, Brad is annoyingly awake.

“Of course you’re a fucking morning person,” she mutters, falling into step behind him.

“Haven’t had your coffee yet?” he snips back, eyes glued to his data padd.

She glares at his back, but makes no comment.

By the time Beckett is fully awake and functioning, she’s already dissociated three separate times and had a mini panic attack twice.

The ship is FUCKED.

The primary hull has been completely ripped apart, like something took a large bite out of the side, and both propulsion units are missing. Beckett peaks over Brad’s shoulder and gets a good look at the interior damage.

“You guys ejected the warp core?” she shrieks in his ear. “Dude that is so badass.”

Brad jumps and pushes her off him. “Wha—get off me, what are you doing—”

Beckett snatches the padd away from him and begins to rapidly scan through the damage reports. “Shit, it’s going to take weeks before we’re back in space. What’s the ETA on getting a new core in? Oooh, we should also add reflective panels, I hear the Enterprise is so bright, nothing ever gets done on there.”

Brad snatches his padd back. “Yeah, I think we can pass on that one.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Being a Starfleet Officer isn’t supposed to be fun—although I do find enjoyment in managing and organizing information—”

“Oh yawn, you’re a pencil pusher.”

“Did you just say ‘yawn’ out loud?”

“Do you need your hearing checked, Captain Brad?”

“It’s Boimler,” he hisses.

“Captain Boimler Brad,” she corrects, easily.

He stomps off, all huffy, but whatever. It’s not her fault Captain Brad doesn’t have a sense of humor.

_____

It takes about a month for the Cerritos to get back into working condition. Beckett would be impressed with how quickly Starfleet is able to get her back in commission, except for the fact that, well. It’s Starfleet. They’re great at what they do, even if what they do isn’t so great.

By then she’s already sent her Dad over seventeen furious voicemails and threatened her mother with six different kinds of legal action if she doesn’t “pick up her goddamn fucking comm.”

Mom does pick up her call and she does agree to meet with her.

“This is bullshit,” she says, after hugging the ever-living shit out of her favorite parent. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

Mom rolls her eyes. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Kiddo, I’ve never been able to make you do anything.”

This was probably true, but Beckett needs someone to blame. “He’s worse than you. Or Dad. Mom he likes paperwork. He’s a morning person. Yesterday he asked me my opinion on the Oxford comma.”

Mom makes a complicated face. Beckett suspects she’s trying not to laugh. “That does sound like Boimler,” she admits, sighing. “Please tell me you’re playing nice.”

Beckett decides not to tell her about the whole “I was a bitch to him because I have no idea how to grieve” deal. “Hey, I can be nice.”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, maybe I’m giving him a hard time, but come on! You could have chosen anyone to promote. Hell, you should have picked Ransom, not transferred him!”

“Ransom doesn’t have the head to make tough calls.”

“And Brad does?”

Mom gives her a look that says she knows something Beckett doesn’t. Beckett hates that look. “I think he knows what he’s doing when he forgets he’s in charge.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means give him a chance before you decided to drop him in a wormhole,” is the dry response she’s given.

Beckett makes no promises.

_____

The Cerritos leaves Starbase 375 on an uneventful day. About eighty percent of the original crew has been completely replaced, most notably, the Bridge Crew. Senior staff is now complied of Officer’s Captain Freeman had promoted before her resignation, but there’s are a few that Beckett herself has recommended. Seems like Brad had actually taken a look at the file.

Beckett takes her seat next to Captain Brad and prepares herself for the madness that’s going to commence from being First Officer on the lamest ship in Starfleet.

The Cerritos has been in deep space for three boring, uneventful weeks.

The only fun Beckett has found in any of it is by torturing Brad. And she’s not even trying! Beckett just has one of those personalities that rubs well-organized people the wrong way. Yes, sometimes she thrives off chaos, and yeah she does things in her own time, but it’s just who she is.

Brad doesn’t seem to appreciate any of her suggestions, calling most of them illegal and dangerous and being all shouty about it.

He’s also a huge stickler for regulations and shit. It’s way, way worse than working with Mom. Beckett’s about to start climbing walls from the sheer boredom of being a First Officer. The only thing she does anymore is sleep, paperwork and fight with Brad, rinse, repeat.

And then she meets Lieutenant D’Vana Tendi.

The first thing Beckett thinks when she runs into the hyperactive Orion is that if Dr. T’Ana had retired along with the rest of the senior crew, Tendi could have easily picked up the mantle. The girl’s a fucking prodigy, mad scientist level of genius.

The second thing Beckett thinks when she meets Tendi is I am way gayer than I thought I was.

“Hey, you’re Mariner!” Tendi chirps, excitedly bouncing up to her. Dr. T’Ana, who had been discussing something medical and boring with the Orion, groans and stomps off the minute she lays eyes on Beckett. Which, rude. Beckett didn’t want to talk to her anyway.

“Oh nice, my reputation proceeds me,” Beckett grins, brushing off her hurt. “As does yours, Lieutenant Tendi.”

Tendi’s cheeks turn a little blue.

There’s an amused snort behind her. “Already flirting with the locals, Mariner?” a familiar voice dryly asks.

Beckett’s mouth drops open. “Rutherford?”

Rutherford, who was messing anxiously with a cyber implant over his eye that he definitely did not have three years ago, grins at her. “Long time, no see!”  

Tendi whirls around. “You know Mariner?”

“She used to be lower decks with me,” he explains.

“Yeah, back in the day,” Beckett agrees, examining her nails. “It was pretty badass.”

Rutherford snorts and gives her a look which clearly conveys I know why you were transferred dumbass. Beckett gives him a look back and hopes it communicates to shut the fuck up.

“You driving Boimler crazy yet?” Rutherford asks, instead of spilling her dirty secrets.

Tendi does this cute snort/giggle thing behind her Padd. “Like you haven’t been present for his ‘daily complain about Marin—‘”

Rutherford lightly kicks Tendi who quite promptly shuts up.

Beckett frowns suspiciously at them.

“Anyway, it’s great to see you Mariner!” Rutherford continues. “Congrats on making First Officer by the way,” he adds in a tone of voice that implies that she will be telling him exactly how she had landed the position later.

“I guess my record speaks for itself.” Beckett smirks.

“Uh hu,” he eyes her disbelievingly. “See you at the bar after our shifts?”

Beckett sighs. “I’ll have to pass. Brad gave me so much fucking paperwork to do that I’ll never get a day off again.”

“Look at you following the rules!” Rutherford punches the air. “I knew you had it in you. I guess I’ll see you around!” He hops off the bio-bed and heads off toward Engineering.

Tendi frowns after him. “At least he still sounds like himself, right?”

That’s a weird thing to say. “Huh?”

The Orion blinks up at her, startled. “Oh, you don’t know? He was in an accident. Full year of his memory completely wiped. He remembers Brad, and you, I guess, but.” She looks down, defeated.

“Oh.” Beckett feels squeamish at the sudden emotion present in the conversation. “That, uh, that really sucks.”

“Yeah.” Tendi shakes herself. “Well, enough buffer time, I’d better get back to work. It was great meeting you, Mariner!”

“Likewise, Lieutenant Tendi,” Beckett flashes her most charming grin. “See you on the Bridge?”

Tendi glances back at Dr. T’Ana, who’s impatiently glaring at them. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

_____

The next few weeks go by in rapid succession. It’s either very very boring and leaves Mariner missing her life as a lower decks officer or it’s incredibly fast pace with weird shit that leaves her chasing the next adrenaline rush.

But of course most days it’s just Brad yelling at her.

“If you could have your report for Second Contact with the Diququeue’s by tomorrow morning, that would be great.”

“Uh huh.”

“Also, I need you to stop trying to pet J’viv, his culture finds it offensive.”

“Sure thing.”

 “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?!

_____

“Officer Mariner could you—what the fuck are you wearing.”

“Oh yeah, the Padroiques gave me this cool jacket.”

“I don’t even—what—Mariner, go take it off!”

“But it’s pink!”

“It’s putting hair all over my Bridge!”

“That’s not hair it’s—”

 “Oh my god just get rid of it.”

_____

“What the fuck was that!”

“That was me. Doing my job. First Officer stuff.”

“That was you practically starting a war with the Gorgonvians. Again.”

“Dude, their government is super corrupt!”

“That’s their problem! Stop antagonizing alien Ambassadors!”

_____

“Why would you tell them to go fuck themselves?!”

“They pissed me off!”

“I actually can’t handle you right now. Get off my Bridge and go irritate someone else.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

_____

“This isn’t working,” she tells Rutherford, snatching at his drink. He gives it up with a sigh and wearily watches her down the purple liquid.

“Maybe start listening to him for once? He is the captain.”

“And that isn’t weird to you? Dude, didn’t he start out lower decks?”

This gets an eye roll out of her usually positive friend. “We all started lower decks. That’s how Starfleet works.”

Beckett decides not to mention that it was definitely not how it worked for her, as that explanation would include revealing that she’s. Well. A Starfleet brat.

“Besides, he’s been a Lieutenant for about a year now and he really handled the Parkled crisis really well. Not that I remember,” he adds, looking a little downcast.

Beckett wrinkles her nose. “Wait, the Cerritos was taken down by Parkleds? No fucking way.” She pulls her data padd out and began tapping away.

“Please don’t hack any mission re—”

“Too late.”

“—ports. Oh shit.” Rutherford rubs at his human eye with one hand. “See this? This is why you’re driving Boimler up a wall.”

Beckett glares at him. “Brad needs to chill out.”

“You need to chill out,” he corrects and then winces. “Sorry, that came out mean. I mean, maybe just try being nice to him? Like what’s the worst that could happen?”

Beckett’s eyes narrow.

_____

“Here, Jen made coffee.”

“If you’re trying to poison me—”

“Why would I poison you?!”

Brad gives her a deadpan stare.

“With coffee!” she adds, for good measure. “I would never defile the gods’ nectar!”

“Ugh, fine,” he snatches at the mug. “Just please stop shouting.”

_____

“I don’t get it!” Beckett rants to Tendi, who’s frowning down at her data padd like it holds the secrets of the universe. “I’m being like super chill for once and he’s still mad!”

Rutherford, who’s doing something cool and science-y to the transporter pad, glances up. “Your version of chill involves way more stabbing than most peoples.”

Tendi nods, eyes still glued to her padd. “Maybe try not challenging Klingons to duels and Boimler will calm down.”

“Uh, he challenged me and then was a sore loser. Not my fault. And I bought Brad a milkshake afterwards to make up for it!”

“Boimler did say that it was unfairly delicious,” Tendi says, pensively.

“I don’t think that was a milkshake,” Rutherford mumbles.

“Point is, why doesn’t he like me yet! Everyone likes me except lame people!”

“So, you don’t think Boimler is lame anymore,” Tendi inquires, grinning at her.

“Shut up, he’s the lamest.”

Rutherford and Tendi share a conspiring look. “Sure.”

_____

So, Brad almost dies. And so do Tendi and Rutherford, because it seems that even though Brad is captain now, apparently the three of them are a tight little trio who’ve been getting up to no good the whole time Beckett was on the Vulker.

That explains a lot actually.

Anyway, there’s some Away Mission nonsense and Beckett just happens to be on the Cerritos because Brad claims that she’s too high strung and that he hasn’t had enough coffee to handle her.

Whatever.

Some shit goes down—again, Beckett isn’t there and doesn’t bother to find out the exact details until much much later—that involves Rutherford and Brad getting infected by some alien disease and suddenly Tendi is dealing with an outright war between the local Camisitites and the Federation and by the time Beckett gets their asses beamed back onto the Cerritos, it’s almost too late.

Rutherford is going to be fine, thanks to his cyborg implants but Brad isn’t looking too hot which means Beckett is Acting Captain.

Fucking great.

It takes her maybe two, three days tops to settle everything out with the irate Camisitite nation and find a cure, but it all works out in the end.

“If you want a Missions Report you can have it after I’ve taken a shower,” she informs a groggy Brad. He blinks up at her from his bio-bed, taking in her disheveled hair, bloodstained shirt, and exhausted expression.

“…cool,” he mutters. “Go away.”

She scoffs at him, dragging a seat up. “I’m good here, actually.”

Brad wakes himself up enough to give her a half-hearted scowl. “Do you ever do as you’re told?”

“Not really, no.” She examines her nails. “Your fault for signing my transfer.”

“So this has all been punishment? Because a good person talked you into a nice, well paying job that I signed off on. I don’t get you.”

“I don’t get you,” she retorts. “Command fucking sucks. It was way cooler when I was an ensign.”

“But you’re really good at it,” he says, surprised. “You’re smart and badass and like way better at everything than everyone else.”

“Wait what?”

“You could have everything! And you’re just wasting it? Do you want me to kick you off ship?”

“Maybe!”

“Well I’m not going to!”

“Why not?!”

He glares at her sullenly. “Figure it out yourself, if you’re so smart.”

_____

“I can’t figure it out!” she snaps, resuming her wild pacing.

Rutherford, who looks like his unending patience is finally, for once, running out, sighs.

(People seem to be doing that a lot around her recently.)

“Figure what out, Mariner?”

“Why did the bastard make me his First Officer?”

“Maybe he’s hot for you,” Tendi suggests, eyebrows wiggling up and down. Beckett shoves her face away.

“Shut up, no way.”

“Just ask him?” Rutherford suggests.

“I did! Like twice! First time he gave me stupid answer and second time he deflected.”

“He gave it to you because he likes you, dummy,” Rutherford says, giving her a friendly shove. “Not like that,” he adds, as Tendi began make kissy faces. “But like. He thinks you’re cool.”

“He thinks I’m cool,” Beckett parrots, unimpressed.

“You are pretty cool,” Tendi agrees. “You like kick everyone’s ass and are super smart and you have street cred.”

“Street cred,” Beckett repeats, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, we’ll go with that.”

“Point is,” Rutherford went on. “He thinks you’re cool. And you know what? I think you think he’s pretty cool.”

Beckett makes a face. “I do not, take that back.”

“You think it’s impressive that Freeman promoted him and it has you all pissy because she threw you off the ship, but you secretly think he’s smart and you think it’s funny that he gets all tied up in knots over protocol,” Rutherford summarizes.

“What are you, my therapist?” Beckett snaps.

“I’m you’re friend. And I think you could be his too if you tried?”

Beckett groans, dropping her face into Tendi’s shoulder. “Fine maybe you’re a little bit right. He hates me though.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t hate you,” Rutherford says, grin in her voice. “You annoy the fuck out of him, sure. But he likes you plenty or he’d have gotten rid of you already.”

“So what do I do?” she mumbles into Tendi’s uniform.

“Go apologize, dumbass,” Tendi advises, shrugging her off her shoulder.

“Ugh.”

_____

She finds him laying on one of the Observation Deck floors, a half-drained bottle of blue substance beside him. Before she can change her mind, she flops down into a seated position next to him. They’re drifting through hyperspace, creating that weird blue effect as their ship speeds past distant stars.

Beckett takes a swig of his contraband, grimacing at the bitter taste.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he says, staring blankly out into space.

Beckett feels surprise at his admission—yeah, this man is a bit of a wreck, but he seemed to the type of guy whose contingency plans had contingency plans—but decides not to show it.

“Congrats dumbass, neither to the rest of us.”

Brad frowns. “You always know what you’re doing.”

This actually coaxes a surprised laugh out of her. She collapses backward, laying on the cold deck beside him. “That’s where you’re definitely wrong, dude. I never know what I’m going to do until I do it. Could be committing arson today, could adopt one of those turtle-puppies we saw on Karklon III last week, the list goes on. We’re Starfleet Officers, we have to be flexible about shit,” she adds, turning her head look at him.

He continues to stare straight ahead of him. “I think you make a better Captain.”

Okay, so he’s in a brutally honest mood. She can chill with that.

“I think I’d get us killed in a week,” she counters, truthfully. “I’m way too impulsive to be in charge. For every badass rule breaker, we need pencil pushing stickler, ya know?”

“So what,” Brad turns his head to the side, squints at her skeptically. “Now you want to work together?”

She drops her chin into the palm of her hand, leaning on her elbow. “I’m just saying, maybe I could get myself demoted back to the fucking Vulkner again and maybe you resign your position and become one of those sad sad researchers that get eaten by their own plants and Starfleet discovers your remains six years later when they have to find a cure for a face-eating parasite or whatever. Or,” she continues, before he can interrupt, all pissy, “maybe you need to loosen up, and maybe I need to suck up to command a bit more.”

It’s the closest to an apology as he’s going to get from her.

(He’s been kind of a bitch too, and they both know it.)

Brad turns back to the window—if you can call the entire wall being made of glass a window—and sighs.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt to give it a shot,” he muses—his version of an apology as well, she notes—and then adds, “I can always demote you.”

“Ha! You couldn’t last a day in the chair without me and you know it,” she replies, smugly. “You pretend like you want constant order and everything to be perfectly organized and on schedule, but I know the truth.”

“Really now?” he dryly says. “And what’s that.”

She grins, leaning in. “You’re secretly a rebel.”

“Fuck off.”

“Pffft, I saw your eye twitching during our report to Admiral Travional. You were practically begging me to spill my coffee on him.”

“Okay, I did not tell you to do that—”

“Oh, and that sexy, sexy moment when Tendi punched Captain Lohnersen out? You never once wrote her up for—”

“He was harassing her, I wasn’t going to write her up when he clearly was disrespecting—”

Beckett dangles the bottle of ale in front of him. “Why Captain Brad. Is this. Gasp! Contraband?!”

Brad laughs, snatching the bottle away from her. “I found it in your quarters.”

“And just what were you doing in my quarters, my good sir?”

“I’ll have you know I was dropping off paperwork. That you still haven’t done. From three weeks ago.”

“And you just swiped it off my desk. Tsk, tsk.”

“Confiscated it,” he corrects, still grinning up at her. “For research purposes, of course.”

“Of course.” Beckett grabs the bottle again. Takes another swig. “Surprised you’re still conscious. This shit can blind you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He grabs the bottle back. “So maybe slow down.”

She rolls her eyes because she has clearly proven numerous times that she can hold her liquor but decides not the start anything. It’s weird, getting along with Brad, but not…unpleasant.

“Hey,” she says, poking his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

His face looks pinched. “Thanks for not letting me die,” he replies, suddenly wary.

She scoffs. “Like I’d let anyone die under my watch.”

Brad sits up. “You mean like I did.”

“Oh.” Beckett blinks at him. “Oh shit. Dude, I was just being an asshole then, I didn’t mean it.”

“But you weren’t wrong. If I had been smarter or—”

“Dude, you cannot think like that,” Beckett grabs his shoulders and makes uncomfortably steady eye-contact. “Even if I had been on the Cerritos when shit went down, I don’t think I could have saved him. You guys were on a time crunch with no backup and I’m surprised Rutherford survived the explosion.”

Brad’s eyebrows furrow. “Wha—did you read Freeman’s Mission Report? I told you to stop—”

She waves him off.  “Doesn’t matter. Point is, stop beating yourself up over it. And stop letting assholes like me make you feel bad,” she adds, as an afterthought.

“Only if you stop challenging people to duels in the Jefferies Tubes,” he counters.

“Deal,” she lies. “You should get in on some of those duels, though. You seem like a sword guy.”

“I can’t even tell if that’s a euphemism or not,” he mumbles. “Are we cool?”

“The coolest,” she confirms. “At least until you see my Missions Report.”

Brad sighs deeply and flops back down. “I’m not even worrying about that right now.”

“Good, because I definitely broke like every protocol ever.”

“Of course you did.”

“And I told the Camisitite’s to call me Captain Mariner, First of her Name.”

“Oh my god—”

“And I challenged their leader to a duel.”

“Mariner what the fuck.”  

[neerasrealm]

bRO jason or LJ would be great with the record scratch one imo HSHSH

WHEN I SAW JASON AS AN OPTION I LOST IT FHGSDHF. Anyway hi this story is basically Jason getting bullied by Kate the Chaser for 2000+ words. Enjoy.

*record scratch* 

*freeze frame* 

Yep, that’s me. No, not the vague figure you’re imagining now from the zero amount of information I’ve given you, and no, I’m not the heroic yet relatable main-character you’d expect either. I’m the one that’s currently, and quite poetically, hiding in the corner of a chicken coop. Yeah, that’s the one.

Hi, I'm Jason. I'm a toymaker. And also half- or maybe three quarters demon because I work for an immortal god of chaos and destruction. And for a little more context, I'm in a chicken coop because things went horribly, horribly wrong. 

I was given one simple task. Spy on a woman named Kate. Okay, no problem. She's human, average height and weight. Nothing to be concerned about. The only foreseeable threat was the fact that she works for my boss's biggest rival. A man named Slender. I would say creature, but from what I've heard he's rather good at acting civilised, though I've also heard that it's all just an act to lower guards. Regardless, I had no fear of her.

No fear that is, until she happened to catch me watching her via my pet surveillance mouse, Licorice. She smacked the poor thing with a rake! A rake! My poor innocent little surveillance drone...Licorice wouldn't harm a fly…

Eh-hem. Anyway- after she found and assaulted Licorice I tried to make my escape- but she caught me. So I hid in the only place I could. 

The chicken coop. 

And that's where I am now. Curled up amongst feathers, grain and very upset birds. If I wasn't trying to be quiet, I would've killed them by now. Especially the one that’s pecking my leg. Rude bitch. I have half a mind to strangle you, you know that, chicken?

Wait.

Oh no.

I hear footsteps.

The door to the chicken coop is yanked open and suddenly I’m being glared at by an angry asian lady wearing black and white flannel. 

‘’Get outta my coop, bitch boy.’’

Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, RUDE. third of all,

‘’No.’’

She glares at me.

‘’Alright, that’s it.’’

She climbs into the fucking chicken coop, grabs me by my EXPENSIVE knee high boots and YANKS me out of the coop with strength I didn’t expect from her. I scream and thrash about and kick at her until she lets me go. She stands over me, glaring. I glare right back. She puts her hands on her hips, channeling the energy of an angry texan grandma. If I wasn’t British I’d probably be terrified right now. 

‘’Who gave you permission to go snoopin’ around my property?’’

‘’I don’t need permission to snoop anywhere,’’ I growl back. ‘’I do as I please.’’

"So you admit you WERE snoopin'!" She points an accusing finger at me. 

"No, I was just saying I don't need permission to snoop." I cross my arms and give her a smug look. The word snoop sounds really weird now that we keep saying i- "AH!" 

She yanks me by the collar of my rather EXPENSIVE shirt. Blue eyes glare into mine between strands of dark hair. ‘’Jason,’’ she growls. ‘’Tell me what the fuck you’re doing here before I crack your skull open like an over-ripe cantaloupe.’’

I glare at her. ‘’...Fine.’’ I sigh. ‘’I was asked to look into you since you’ve changed location. It was suspected that you were doing something, or perhaps Slender had changed his base of operat-’’ I’m interrupted by her letting go of my collar and rudely placing her muddy boot on my nice clean clothes. ‘’HEY!’’

‘’I fucking moved out, Jason. Jesus. Can Zalgo just calm his tits? Do I have to live in fear of the bastard for the rest of my life just because of Slender?’’

‘’Yes, you do.’’ I glare at her. ‘’Maybe you should have considered that before becoming his proxy.’’ She rolls her eyes and lifts her foot off of me. I brush dirt off myself but- that mud isn’t going to come off easily...these were expensive clothes too…

‘’Get up.’’

‘’I’m not taking orders from you!’’

‘’Then maybe I should tell Slender I found a creepy redhead sitting up a tree watching me!’’

"Hey! I am not creepy!" 

Kate glares down at me, her hands on her hips again. After a few moments of stubborn silence, I stand up and brush dirt off myself. She folds her arms.

"I won't tell Slender about this if you do somethin' for me." She says. I squint.

"Are you trying to blackmail me?" I murmur. She nods.

"Yep. I have a fence that needs fixin', along with some stuff in the house and fields. If ya help me I won't tell Slenderman I found ya creepin' around my property."

What the hell does this woman take me for? I'm not going to let her blackmail me! I glare at her and cross my arms. "Absolutely not." I say before turning and walking away. Hah! That'll show her! I'm simply going to walk away from my problems!

"Aren't ya forgettin’ somethin'?" I turn and look at her and stare in horror. She's holding my beloved mouse from her tail, swinging her from side to side like she's a toy rather than a beloved pet!

"LICORICE!" I yelp and run towards her to grab back my poor pet. Kate moves out of the way with surprising speed. I suppose that's why her nickname is 'The Chaser'. 

"Ah ah ah." She wags a finger at me, teasing me. "Not until you help me."

"What?!" Licorice is being held ransom now?! I stare at Kate in horror. She smirks. "...fine! Fine, I'll do it! Just- don't hurt licorice...please…"

"That's the spirit, jacey-boy!" She chirps. Dear god I hope she never calls me that again. She stuffs licorice back into her pocket and smiles smugly. "Now c'mon."

Begrudgingly, I follow her to her home. It’s a large country house, with a spacious wooden deck. Inside is just as cozy as you’d expect. This is actually a nice place- I wouldn’t mind living here myself if it wasn’t on a farm. I don’t like farms. They smell bad.

‘’Alright, here we go.’’ She leads me into the kitchen. There’s a toolbag on the kitchen table. She picks it up and holds it out to me. ‘’There’s some broken bannisters on the stairs. Think you can fix them up?’’

‘’I guess if there’s replacement bannisters.’’ I grunt. 

‘’In the shed out back. And after you’re done that, you can fix some holes I found in the walls upstairs,’’ she shrugs at me. ‘’I think the past owner had a teenage son. Punched the shit outta the place.’’

‘’Of course he did…’’ I take the toolbag and sigh. ‘’Fine.’’ 

 I march out the backdoor and find her shed. Walking inside, the bannisters I need are laying on a table. It smells of fresh paint in here- I actually quite like that smell...I grab the bannisters and march back inside. The bitch is making coffee instead of- you know, working like I am. I glare at her as I walk back into the hallway. Her stairs are completely missing several bannisters- six to be exact. With a sigh, I put down the bannisters and rummage through the bag for a drill. Why does she think I’m qualified to fix stairs anyway? Because I’m a toymaker?? I mean- yeah I know how to fix things like this- but still! My skills are more in carving and painting and sewing...ugh…

I pull out the drill I need and get to work. It’s a simple process. Drill a nail into the stairs, drill a matching hole into the bannister, then screw it on. Nothing too difficult- the only bad part is the sawdust that gets everywhere. Not my problem though- at least I hope it isn’t. If she makes me clean it up I’ll be mad.

‘’I finished.’’ I growl to Kate as I walk back into the kitchen. ‘’What next?’’

She’s eating fucking banana bread. Taunting me with the fact that I’m doing all of her work for her. Fuck you, Kate. Fuck you. If I was in a room with Slenderman and you and I had one bullet, I’d shoot Slender and beat you to death myself. Fuck you AND YOUR BANANA BRE-

‘’There’s plaster and newspaper upstairs. You can stuff the holes up and plaster over ‘em.’’ she smiles at me. Ah. I didn’t need to come in here at all. I could have avoided seeing the accursed banana bread…

I go upstairs like a good slave laborer. The bucket of plaster and stack of newspapers is sitting right next to the top of the stairs. How did I miss it? Ugh. Whatever- ripping up the papers to stuff up the holes in the walls is actually kind of fun. I haven't made anything with paper mache in a while...it’s kind of time consuming to make but still fun! 

Thinking about paper mache makes the time go by much much faster. By the time I’ve patched up every single hole in the wall I’ve almost completely forgotten why I’m so angry! It’s nice- being productive always helps me calm down and forget why I’m so stressed…

‘’Hey, Jason!’’

Ah. I remember now. I look down the stairs at Kate. She smirks a bit. ‘’Ya done?’’

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Good! Ya can help me with the fence then!’’

Ugh. With a huff I walk downstairs and follow her outside. She leads me to a wooden fence that’s broken down and barely standing. Next to it is a shovel, some timber and more tools. She picks the shovel up and starts digging around the fencepost. Together, the two of us remove the rotten wood from the bottom of the post, fill up the hole, and replace the rest of the rotten and broken wood. By the time we’re done I’m covered in dirt, and sweaty. I huff and take off my jacket, holding it under my arm. Kate does something similar, tying her flannel shirt around her waist. She stretches, cracking her back and grunting. 

‘’Are we done yet?’’ I growl. Kate smirks. 

‘’Almost. Just need ta water some crops.’’ she strides past me. ‘’C’mon Jacey. It won’t take long.’’ 

‘’Don’t call me Jacey.’’ 

She laughs and leads me over to the field I was watching her in. There's a short pipe with a hose attached to it just by the gate leading into it. She picks up the hose and hands it to me. ‘’Just sprinkle some water over ‘em, got it?’’

‘’I know how to water plants. I’m not dense.’’

Her lips curl up into a smile. ‘’Good. I’m gonna go check on Marigold.’’ she says before wandering away. I frown.

‘’Who’s Marigold?’’ I call after her.

‘’My cow!’’ she yells back. ‘’Now get to work before I feed your mouse to her!’’

Cows don’t even eat mice...stupid bitch. Hmph. begrudgingly, I walk along the small paths in between each line of crops, sprinkling each one with water. She has all sorts of things growing according to the small wooden signs stuck into the dirt. Carrots, potatoes, tomatoes...being a farmer sounds like a hellish lifestyle, but having your own fresh ingredients for cooking does sound appealing...

‘’Jason!’’ 

Just as I’m watering the last of her plants she calls me. I glance over at her. She waves at me from the other end of the field. With a sigh, I walk all the way over to the gate where she’s standing.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’Ya wanna feed the chickens?’’

‘’No.’’ 

‘’Great!’’ she grins at me. Great, now I have to feed the bloody things. As if hiding amongst them earlier wasn’t degrading enough. I put the hose back where I found it and turn to her. She holds out a bucket filled with seeds, grain and berries. I take it and frown.

‘’What is this?’’

‘’Chicken feed. Duh.’’ she rolls her eyes. ‘’C’mon. This is the last thing, promise.’’ I follow her back to the accursed chicken coop. The chickens, there’s seven of them, are just wandering around, pecking aimlessly at the ground. Kate claps her hands and the demon birds all look up. Kate looks at me and gestures to the chickens. ‘’Well c’mon. They’re waitin’.’’

With a sigh I reach into the bucket, grab a handful of feed, and toss it to the ground. Immediately it’s swarmed by bloodthirsty- er- bloodhungry chickens who peck the ground aggressively. Out of fear for my safety I continue tossing feed at the birds. Admittedly it is fun seeing chickens rapidly look around in confusion when they’re hit on the head with their own food. This isn’t actually too bad. These chickens aren’t all that ba-

‘’Ow!’’

I TAKE IT BACK ONE OF THE FUCKERS JUST PECKED MY FOOT. I kick at the aggressive bird. It flutters back and I give it my best sneer. Kate clicks her tongue and I look up at her. 

‘’Bad idea, Jacey.’’

Huh? Wha- ‘’OW-’’ I stumble back and away from the flock of chickens pecking at my good nice boots. I drop the bucket of feed, stumble on a rock, and fall straight into the muddy ground. I stare at the sky, eyes wide. What- what the fuck...since when are chickens so- aggressive?? I sit up slowly and stare at the demon hens in fear, then at Kate who is aggressively laughing. I glare at her, regain my lost dignity out of spite, and stand up.

‘’Can I go now?’’

‘’Mmm…’’ she rocks on her heels, smirking and considering it for a moment. ‘’Sure. I think ya’ve done everything I need.’’ she pulls her hands out from behind her back and holds out a tupperware container as I walk over to her. What- why is she-

Oh.

Oh if she put licorice in there-

‘’Licorice!’’ yep she did. Bitch. I pick up my beloved mouse and cradle her in my hands, dropping the container in the process. ‘’Oh there you are sweetie...I’m sorry- did the mean lady trap you in there? You poor thing.’’ Licorice squeaks in distress as I pet her gently and kiss the top of her little head. ‘’I know, I know- don’t worry Jason’s here, she isn’t going to hurt you anymore my sweet.’’ 

Licorice rolls up onto my shoulder and snuggles up against my collar. I pat her again and glare at Kate. She smiles sweetly at me.

‘’Get off my property.’’

‘’Gladly.’’

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

Alien Spaceship Pyramids

(Very mild Kwamibuster spoilers. Also on AO3)

-

Alix was not a happy bunny when she went back to the Louvre that evening.

“Did you see me on TV?” Jalil said immediately, jumping up in excitement. “My theory was accepted! I’m so happy!”

“Yeah, I saw it,” Alix snapped. She threw her schoolbag down on the floor and went off to go find her skates – she really had to do something fun and distracting or she would go mad.

“What did you think? Was I okay? I did get lots of followers on my history blog, so I’m glad at least that my theories are gaining traction–”

“Aliens, Jalil? Really?!” She spun round to face him. “You do know it’s possible for humans to build pyramids, right? That’s an actual thing that humans actually can do. I can do it myself, just gimme a few Lego blocks and I’ll happily show you. ‘Alien spaceships’, honestly...”

“But I have proof! The pyramids are so ancient that primitive human technology of the time can’t possibly have built structures as mathematically magnificent as that!”

“They just piled a bunch of rocks on top of each other, how hard can it be?”

“But they’re so huge, and – and – I have other proof too...”

She sighed. “Look. I didn’t care about the necromancy thing, even if it was so cringey that you got akumatized over it. I didn’t care about the Atlantis thing. I got super into the Area 51 thing, if you remember. I get that conspiracy theories are fun. But this? This is a step too far!”

“Why?”

“Because you’re acting like our own ancestors were too dumb to build a freaking pyramid!”

Jalil crossed his arms. “You sound just like dad.”

“Pfffff, dad doesn’t talk like that, he’s way less informal.”

“You know what I mean! Anyway, come on, can’t I count on my own family to support me? I support your skating thing, even though you keep getting injured from it!” He gestured towards the bandage on her knee.

“Jalil, dude. I have supported you through so much. Like that hang-gliding fad, or your weird rivalry with that Theo guy, or that bloody necromancy ritual you never shut up about. But now I’ve had it. Next you’ll be saying the moon landing was a hoax, or the earth is flat, or that vaccines are bad, or that Rena Rouge is Marinette, or... or...”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Rena Rouge is Mylène, of course.”

At the end of her patience, Alix turned away and began walking off to find her skates again. “I’m disowning you.”

“Hey! You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will!” she called out over her shoulder. “Dad was right to give the pocket watch to me! And guess what? I’m gonna go find Juleka’s mum and get her to adopt me, and then I’ll get an actual cool older brother instead! Not a weirdo like you...”

“Fine!” She heard Jalil stomp his foot, like some immature little kid. “I’m not talking to you anymore.”

“Me neither!”

Good riddance – she’d had enough of him and his stupid conspiracies!

 -

 “You can’t just get my mum to adopt you,” Juleka said, rolling her eyes. Well, the one eye that was visible anyway. Who knew what the other one was doing.

“Why not?” Alix asked.

“Because you’ve already got a parent. My mum would have to marry your dad, and uh... yeah. Not happening.”

“But it’s so unfair! You get a cool big brother who’s actually supportive and nice and didn’t try to convince you that Beethoven is an alien time lord when you were only 3 years old...”

The quiet twangs of Luka’s guitar could be heard from where he was sitting out on the deck. Imagine if Jalil could play the guitar? But no, the stupid nerd had to go for drums, and it was so frustrating to have to hear that boring repetitive tapping whenever she was trying to do her homework.

Juleka’s one eye widened. “But Alix, Beethoven really IS an alien time lord.”

“Haha, very funny.” Alix turned away.

“Hey... Jalil is a grown-up, isn’t he? Surely he’ll move out soon and then you won’t have to deal with him?”

“I doubt it. He works in the museum with dad. It’ll be me who has to move out, and I’ve still got years left before I can do that. Meanwhile my brother is on TV going on about alien spaceships while yours is on TV because you guys are in a rock band.”

Couldn’t Jalil be in a rock band with her? Sure, the age difference was a lot bigger than Juleka and Luka’s was, but still! Sibling rock bands were such a cool idea. Why couldn’t Jalil ever think of something like that? “Sibling archaeology team” didn’t have quite the same ring to it, especially when said team ended up getting chased out of the park for digging up all the grass.

“It’s not like Luka isn’t annoying sometimes too,” Juleka said, seemingly trying to put on a reassuring smile. “For example he... uh... hmm... he thinks ethereal wave is better than darkwave. It’s really annoying.”

“Ah yes, arguing over music genres. Jalil thinks the Hurrian Hymns are better than the Jet Set Radio soundtrack and I want to slap him. Like no offence to the Ancient Sumerians but they could really have used more bass.”

“Well um... Luka also won’t use mascara even though I keep telling him it’ll really make his eyes pop.”

“Yeah, and Marinette and Adrien still won’t stop obsessing over him. Jalil fricking wears scarfs indoors. Like, inside when it’s warm. I don’t care about fashion and even I want to nominate him for Queer Eye.”

Juleka shrugged. “Oh, I give up. Luka is a great brother. I’m sorry.”

Alix nodded, getting up to leave. “Never mind. I guess I’ll just have to deal with him then, though I’m not gonna stop giving him the silent treatment...”

Anyway, Juleka constantly trying to make her feel better wasn’t what she needed. She needed a brick wall to vent at who would just nod along and not really care, and let her be as annoyed as she wanted in peace. She needed... ah yes... a certain emo who would certainly be in the art gallery back at the Louvre right about now...

 -

 She hadn’t even made it there yet before hearing the unwelcome voice of Nuisance #1 chasing after her down the street.

“HEY ALIX! Your brother was awesome on that show earlier! Wait come back! Stop!”

Screeching to a halt on her skates, she turned around. “What do you want, Kim?”

Kim did that weird half-dab thing he had been doing all day. “The show, Alternative Truth! How do you get on it? I wanna be on it too!”

She rolled her eyes. “For what? What stupid conspiracy are you going to go with?”

“Well don’t tell anyone but...” He looked around and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think your dad might be Hawk Moth.”

“God, and I thought Jalil was bad...”

Kim didn’t seem to have heard her. “So how do you get on the show? How did Jalil do it? What do I do? Do I need to make a history blog too? I follow Jalil’s one now and it’s really great but he hasn’t mentioned anything about the show yet so...”

Alix made a mental note to remember to block Jalil’s blog from every one of her accounts at some point in the near future. “I don’t know and I don’t care. Go ask him yourself.”

“Well I would, but I can’t go in the Louvre, the security guards banned me after I broke that statue that one time...”

“Oh yeah, that was great,” she said, allowing herself a grin despite how annoyed she was. “Fine, I’ll let you in through the side entrance. But only on the condition that you never speak to me about Jalil ever again.”

His face fell. “Why not?”

“Because he’s the worst brother ever and I hate him.”

“Wow, that’s kinda harsh...”

“I don’t care. Now hurry up and follow me, I’ve got a tomato to meet up with.”

She skated off and trusted he was following. He was always bragging about being able to run super fast, well surely he’d be able to keep up, right? If he couldn’t then too bad for him!

 -

 “Alright, go through there,” Alix said, pointing at the corridor that led towards her family’s quarters. “I’m going to the art gallery. And if you get kicked out or arrested by security guards then I’m absolutely throwing you under the bus and pretending I had nothing to do with this.”

“Cool. In return, I’m gonna tell Jalil what you said about him being the worst brother ever and that you hate him. See ya later!”

Kim turned and ran off before she could even process what he’d said.

Wait... he was going to actually tell Jalil that? To his face?

Alix ignored the weird pangs of guilt. Anyway, it was true! Jalil was the worst. She definitely didn’t care if someone told him so. He deserved to be insulted.

Her gut twisted painfully.

No! No guilt. She stuffed a pair of headphones on and skated off towards the art gallery.

 -

 The best thing about Nathaniel was that he just didn’t care. It probably worked both ways – plenty of times he’d been the one sitting here, ranting about something while doodling in that little sketchbook of his, and Alix would just skate around and listen. Now it was her turn to rant.

“Jalil is so annoying! I can’t stand it any longer! His conspiracies don’t even make any sense, he’s just doing it to be edgy and weird and I hate it!”

“Mhm.” Nath didn’t even look up from his sketchbook.

“I never even minded before, but this alien spaceship thing has gone too far. And to think he was on TV, and everyone saw it! It’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me!”

“Yeah. So embarrassing.”

“I used to wonder why dad is so harsh on him all the time, but I kinda get it now. He’s just – just so–”

She stopped just short of saying the word useless.

Was Jalil useless?

Well... he had been the one who had bought Alix her first ever pair of skates. Heck, he’d even been the one who bought the skates she was currently wearing.

Nath finally looked up. “Having second thoughts?”

Alix had been so busy venting that she hadn’t noticed the songs that were playing through her headphones, having just put the thing on shuffle and let it do what it wanted, but she suddenly noted the vaguely familiar tones of an ancient lyre.

Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she looked to see that it was... oh yeah, Hurrian Hymn No. 6. That time when she’d downloaded it just to see what Jalil’s hype about it even was. It was okay, she guessed. Not her type of music, but hey, the Ancient Sumerians only had a limited availability of instruments to work with, it wasn’t her place to judge that.

She sighed and went to sit down beside Nath.

“It’s a bit weird... me and Jalil have never really fought like this before. He just does his own thing and I do my own thing. I... I’m not used to being mad at him.”

Peering over, she noticed that Nath was drawing the pyramids themselves. It reminded her of what she was annoyed about in the first place.

“I just can’t believe he literally went on TV and called the pyramids alien spaceships! Does he even hear himself? I usually stick up for him when dad is calling him out on his dumb theories, but this one just doesn’t make any sense at all...”

“So this is the first time you haven’t taken his side?” Nath asked.

She nodded. “I guess that’s why he’s mad at me too... he’s used to me sorta passively supporting him... I mean most of the time his theories aren’t any more or less zany than the stuff Alya comes up with, so it’s not usually a big deal...”

The lyre was strangely haunting. So much reverb, echoing around like the thoughts in her brain. It was enough to calm her down a bit – probably a good thing, because getting akumatized was not exactly a priority today.

Her phone buzzed. She looked at it again to see–

Ugh, a notification that Jalil had updated his blog. She’d forgotten to block him.

But even as she unlocked the screen and went to do so, she couldn’t stop herself from reading what he’d posted, at least the first few lines.

Apologies to all my dear fans and followers who watched Alternative Truth today, but I am renouncing my theory that the pyramids are the remains of ancient spaceships. I have come to realize that I was misinformed and that there is a high possibility that the Ancient Egyptians really did build them through their own power, and...

What?

“Nath!” Alix leapt to her feet. “Jalil doesn’t believe that alien spaceship theory anymore!”

Nath barely even blinked. “Okay. Cool.”

“How did this happen? There’s no way he’d just stop believing something like that, he’s always so adamant that he’s right! Unless... unless... oh no...”

Was this her fault? Her saying that she hated Jalil, that he was the worst brother ever, and Kim deciding to tell him so, did that really hurt Jalil so much that he’d renounce his own theory? Had her words affected him that much?

“Oh my god I have to go apologize to him.”

“Uh what?”

“I’ll be back later! You keep drawing, I have to go...”

Leaving Nath there confused, she skated off at top speed.

 -

 “Jalil! Jalil, there you are!”

Jalil frowned. “Alix? I thought you weren’t going to talk to me anymore?”

Too much momentum to stop in time, she skated right into him and almost knocked him over. “I’m so sorry I was mean to you okay, I mean your theory was definitely stupid and I’m glad you renounced it but please ignore whatever Kim said, I don’t think you’re the worst brother and–”

“Wait, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the things I said about you behind your back! Kim said he was going to tell you...”

Jalil scratched his head in thought. “That’s the kid with the Tintin hair, right? I didn’t get to talk to him at all, I saw him getting kicked out by security actually.”

“So he didn’t tell you that I said I hated you?”

“No, not at all!”

Oh...

“Well then why did you renounce your theory?” she asked. “I thought it was because I made you feel bad.”

“Something really strange happened to me actually!” Jalil said, his eyes lighting up in the way that they always did whenever he was going to go off on a conspiracy tangent. Alix mentally prepared herself for the worst. “I met a superhero who claimed to come from the future! She had the powers of time travel and said that she would prove me wrong, and so she took me through a portal back in time to thousands of years ago, and briefly showed me the Ancient Egyptians actually building the pyramids themselves. And I know it sounds too good to be true but I promise I’m not lying! This really happened to me!”

Superhero from the future? She was about to say how far-fetched that sounded, when she noticed Jalil looking at her very suspiciously.

“The superhero... looked very familiar, now that I think about it...”

“Uh... who did it look like?”

He hesitated for a few seconds before answering. “...Never mind. Just a conspiracy theory.”

“Is it one with proof this time? Because as long as it’s not as stupid as the pyramid one, I’m willing to hear it.”

He shook his head. “I’ll tell you someday, but just uh... not yet.”

“Um, okay.”

“Anyway, you were right about the pyramid theory being wrong, and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“Cool. And I’m... I’m sorry I was really harsh about it.”

“No, it’s good that you were! I shouldn’t be giving all the credit to aliens for things that humans did. And you’re usually really nice about my theories, so if it was something that made you annoyed, then it surely had to have been bad...”

Alix smiled – it was nice to be back on her brother’s good side. “All forgiven. I’ll still stick up for you when dad’s being annoying, I promise.”

“Thanks, munchkin.” He patted her on the head. “I like it better when we’re not bickering.”

“Same.”

Something popped into her head all of a sudden.

“Oh yeah, Jalil? How did you get onto Alternative Truth in the first place?”

“Why do you want to know? Are you going to go on it?”

“What? No! Not me! Kim stans that show, he was bugging me about it earlier...”

“Oh right! Well it was like this...”

He launched into an explanation. Phew – things were back to normal. Jalil could be annoying, sure, but he still helped Alix with her homework, and covered for her whenever she was doing anything she wasn’t supposed to, and cheered for her at skating competitions, and so many other things she was grateful for. In fact, he probably kept her in line as much as she had done with him today. Of course, being so much younger, it wasn’t exactly easy to boss him around without him getting overly annoyed about it. But at least he was still there for her.

Superhero from the future, though... who on earth was that?

 -

 It was several years later when Alix kicked open the door to Jalil’s room, pocket watch in hand.

“Hey Alix, what’s u–”

“The superhero was me, wasn’t it?” she said, deadpan.

“What superhero?”

“The one who showed you the pyramids years ago.”

Jalil’s eyes widened. “Oh – the bunny? You mean that really is you?”

“Oh hell yes, it was me alright. You were being such a twerp that day, it still annoys me when I think about how I had to sit through that stupid TV show...”

“Wait you’re a miraculous holder?!”

Alix didn’t pay him any attention. “I’m going back in time to that day right now and proving you wrong. Your alien spaceship theory doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Wait wait wait you’re telling me my little sister really is a superhero???”

Alix turned back around and walked out of the room. How had it took her so long to put two and two together? Well, whatever. Time to fix mini-Alix and mini-Jalil’s friendship, and put an end to the alien spaceships once and for all.

[smitten-miqitten]

So, idk if you all remember my Butterflies chapter where Era had a spot of intimacy nervousness, but thanks to a certain delightfully enabling Discord server, it now has a much saucier lemon flavored followup. This is obviously not safe for workplace consumption (But I’m not the boss of you. Live your best life).

Ao3 Link

Butterflies Scattered

"I've made you wait so long, I think it's only fair you get to decide how we start."

"You've done nothing of the sort. You just needed time; I was never in any rush."

"You've still been waiting though, haven't you? Is there nothing you've been wanting to do? Nothing in particular, I mean? Any fantasies… or, or… you know." Era stammered, gesturing vaguely as if the action would account for words she wouldn't utter. "I'd like to do that first, really I would."

So she said, but Cid was of the opinion that bending her over the railing of the Excelsior and having his way might be just a tad bit too rough for Era's first time. So he went with his second favorite fantasy, one of the first he'd ever allowed himself of her, in fact.

"Well then, if you insist", he laughed, scooping her up and plopping her down on one of the ship's benches. She landed with an "eep!"; her eyes growing wide to see him kneel at her knees. "You want to do that?" She asked nervously, face flushing as he kissed his way up her thigh, his hands gently parting her hastily squeezed together legs. 

"Very, very much... but it can wait, if you're not comfortable…" Cid noted her furrowed brow and worrying lips.

"No, no, it's not... I want to try, I do… it's just… I can't return the favor." Era sighed, pointing to her teeth, specifically her canines, in response to his puzzled look. "I've been practicing, on...on fruit and the like, but I can't seem to avoid damaging them with my teeth."

 She what?

Cid struggled really, really hard not to laugh. She had been practicing? He was flattered beyond words that she would bother with such a thing for him, truly. But the idea of her doing that to various foods was far too comical an image. Giggling lightly despite his best efforts, he said "My darling, I appreciate the concern but I assure you I'm rather more substantial than fruit."

She flushed to think of his substantiality. "Well, sure, I mean... you're certain I won't hurt you?"

"Short of outright biting me, no, I don't think you will."

"That's… genuinely a relief. I don't like this disparity between us, I really don't. I want to be able to make you happy, Cid.  So no matter how silly or undignified it is, I wanted to at least make an effort."

"Era.." Damnit, how could he keep up his suave act in the face of something that genuine? Cid knew he was like putty in her hands, turning to mush at her heartfelt admissions. He leaned up to kiss her, hoping she could feel the love he bore for her as keenly as he did. "We could always try for a practical lesson later", he murmured against her lips. "Without the fruit."

"Cid~…" Heat radiated off her skin, his flirtations never failing to get a rise. 

At least I’m not the only one turning to mush, he thought. "Only teasing. Though the offer stands..."

She met his lips again to shut him up, clever tongue seeking entrance and being wholeheartedly welcomed. She had grown very adept at this of late, a quick study, kissing him senseless. For a few short moments their roles were reversed, Era holding all the cards, his heart in her hands.   But that wouldn't do. Not for what Cid had planned.  Her breath caught as his hands wandered back downwards, slipping underneath her skirt, fingertips coming to rest at the edge of her undergarments. Giving her a quick peck on the tip of her nose and a cheeky little grin, he followed his hands to his prize.  He would leave the majority of her clothes on for now, while they were on the deck at least; the chill in the Sea of Clouds was fairly biting. He was pleasantly surprised to find she had not worn her customary undershorts, his only obstacle a pair of lovely blue lace pantalettes (clearly worn with him in mind), already quite damp. 

He smoothed his thumb back and forth across her waistband, savoring the feel of warm, soft lace on skin, smile only growing. She had no way of knowing this, of course, and he'd never admit to it, but the skirt she currently wore was the very one that originally inspired this fantasy. It had been the first time he'd seen her wear such a thing, her toned thighs the most glorious display.

"Ready?"

She nodded, hands coming to rest on his shoulders, eyes shut tight and face crimson. Cid, perhaps knowing her too well, mercifully did not leave her much time to stew in her shyness, deftly removing her undergarments and setting to work.

Oh! Ohhhh gods...

His tongue was on her now, moving slowly across her folds, every lap culminating in a little flick at her clit, each one sending what felt like sparks throughout her skin. Era tensed at these new sensations, fingers digging into his shoulders and legs attempting to squeeze shut, ultimately thwarted by his firm hold on her thighs. She could feel…. something building in her lower belly. Something warm, each spark further igniting it, her veins filled with fire. She knew what, of course, but never imagined it to feel... anything quite like this.

 Seven hells…oh Cid...

Her breath came out in small, stuttered gasps, uttering a muted moan as he found his pace, quickening as if in time with her racing heartbeat. It was so quiet she thought he might not have heard, thought (stupidly) that she might escape the sheer embarrassment of it. That is, until she felt him smile.

A hand flew to her mouth to stifle the noise, but her attempts at modesty were fruitless. Without looking up from his task, Cid merely raised one of his own hands in response. Holding it out as if requesting something, fingers waving in a "give it here" motion, he didn't need words to say what he wanted. Hesitantly, begrudgingly, Era placed her offending hand in his, the cacophony of quiet gasps and moans that escaped her now undampened.

Heavens above and hells below, if this was him out of practice she couldn't begin to imagine what she was in for in the future.

Her hand grasped his tightly, the other fisting in his hair as she neared her peak. At least, she thought she must be, the tension in her belly growing stronger and stronger. Cid gave her thigh a little squeeze, a wordless "stay put, please". His touch left her for a moment, only to reappear at the entrance of her core. Gently he inserted a finger, crooking it juuuust so, making her back arch in pleasure. 

He's... trying to loosen it, right? I read about that..I read..ohhhh, I can't! She could feel herself teetering on the edge, an odd image of balancing on a brick wall coming to her mind. She was going to fall. Needed to fall. But it was too soon, he needed to add more for it to work, didn't he? She had to hold on, to be patient, she had… "Cid, I'm sorry, please, I can't...I need...ah!!" Era came with a shudder, body curling around what of him she could reach, clinging to him.

Huh. Her sudden release had caught him off guard, her cry and sharp tug of his hair startling him out of his reverie. So caught up in the act, he hadn't spotted the signs: how firmly she gripped his hand, the rising pitch of her voice, the thrashing of her tail. He hadn't expected Era to be quite so quiet, and assumed he had more time. Not that it matters, he thought, admiring the worn out, blissful woman before him, her glow more than achievement enough.

She relinquished her hold on his hair, a couple strands staying with her, his scalp stinging a bit with the loss. As Cid kissed the inside of her thigh, Era dimly registered how...damp his beard felt. That's strange...wait...oh seven hells. Cid issued a disappointed "tisk" as she buried her face in her hands. 

"There's so much, isn't there?" She cringed at the feel of the cool air on her damp skin. Damp. Urgh….

"Era, no, darling, it's fine." Cid hastily wiped at his mouth and beard, giving her a quick peck on the lips. "See?"

The flavor on his lips was odd, not at all like him. "Oh...do I really taste like that? It's... salty, sort of." 

"You taste fine, better than fine." He chuckled as she peeked out at him through her fingers, a little smile unmistakable.

"I ruined your master plan, Cid. Finished too soon, you only managed one finger before I…"

"My plan, my overly self-conscious sweetheart, was to get you off. Having achieved that -- spectacularly, I might add -- I count nothing as ruined."

Oh you silly, awful, wonderful man, she thought, pulling him into a languid kiss, tongue dancing with his, her taste mingled with his own. "Thank you."

"'Thank you'? For what?" Cid pulled a dumb face utterly ill befitting his genius.

"What? You know what!" She stuck her tongue out at him, his clueless, teasing facade cracking into an easy smile. "Oh no… Cid, the bench is such a mess", Era groaned, sitting up, again hiding her face in her hands. They hadn't thought to lay down a towel or anything.

"Ah, I wouldn't worry about it. Ever since her upgrade, the Excelsior's been overdue for a rechristening", he laughed. "This should serve".

"I'm not a bottle of wine!" Era chided, bapping him on the shoulder in embarrassment.

"Could have fooled me." Cid countered, waggling his eyebrows. "Now, the chill on deck does make what I have planned next rather difficult, what do you say we head below? While I must admit I'm very keen to get you out of those clothes,  I'll not have you freeze in the process."

Era stood, wobbling slightly, steadying herself against his arm. Cid triggered the hatch release, and the pair descended from the chilly deck into the bowels of the Excelsior. Unlatching a portion of the wall, Cid revealed a small foldout cot. He kicked a number of crates and containers underneath it to aid the rather spindly supports, claiming the bed’s legs would not be up to the task. “Not the most comfortable thing in the world I suppose, but you’re the one that picked the Excelsior rather than a proper bed.” Not that Cid would want it any other way.

They set to removing their clothing, or the rest of it, in Era’s case, smalls long since cast aside. Era saw little point in retaining any articles, modesty all but tossed out the window given he’d already become so well acquainted with her most intimate parts, but Cid continued to wear his smalls, perhaps in a gesture to calm her nerves. He also wore his goggles still, which Era proceeded to yank off his head. Damned goofy, to wear goggles during sex, she thought.

Cid was hardly restrained in his appreciation of her form, eyes wandering, drinking in each and every glorious curve. Era too, was guilty, though she tried to be rather more discreet in her admirations, eyes bashfully roaming his glorious musculature. Era adored in particular the fine, silver trail of hair that grew starting at Cid's navel, travelling downwards and downwards. She couldn't help it, it was fascinating. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of it, her own body hair, where there was any, being fine and sparse, the vast majority being on her head and tail. Or perhaps it was simply the implication; the thought of where the trail led, and the heat that arose in her loins in the thinking, that had her so enamored with this particular patch of hair.

He scooped her up, laying her on the cot with care, drawing her into an impassioned kiss, stealing her breath and leaving her woozy before moving to nibble at her ears. Okay, this is a good place to start. They had done this before, albeit with more clothing. This was familiar, comfortable: passionate kisses, bodies pressed together, hands roaming faces and shoulders and hips and...oh.  Cid’s fingers caressed the swell of her breast, Era letting out a little gasp of surprise. 

Of anticipation. 

Sensing no opposition, Cid continued, his palm enveloping it, massaging as his thumb began to stroke her now pebbled nipple. 

How heavenly, how...oooh. A familiar want grew, stronger and stronger as he rolled her nipple between his fingers, ever more so as he took its companion in his mouth, his beard soft and smooth and ticklish on her skin. 

 More, please…

As if he were suddenly a mind reader, Cid obliged, free hand finding her clit, small circles driving her wild. He was cognizant of her tells now, working her far more steadily as he dipped a finger inside. First only one, Era still too tense, still too tight, but so very wet. A second soon followed, crooking, hitting a spot that made her squirm, stars erupting behind her eyelids. He quite liked that reaction; Era could feel him grin against her chest as he repeated the move.

She tried to reach for him, barely thinking through her pleasure, fingers tentatively following the path of silver that led to him, wanting to do something, anything more than take. Cid groaned as she grasped him through his smalls, voice heady and deep, losing pace for a moment. Growing bolder, her hand slipped underneath his waistband, stroking the hardness she found there. Era hadn't the faintest idea what the hell she was doing, but surely it had to be something right, if his heavy breaths and muttered oaths were any indication. She hooked a finger underneath his chin, luring him to her, nibbling at his bottom lip.

She was close again, the pressure mounting, the tell-tale teetering feeling returning with force. Pleasure driving her to distraction, her hold on his manhood faltered, Era losing herself in his ministrations as Cid took her hand. But this, this wasn't how she wanted it. She wanted...

Era started to giggle, covering her mouth in an ill attempt to quell her sudden outburst. Cid looked up, his smile one part amused, one part confused, and one part a bit hurt. 

"Era, dear, if you're going to laugh, I do hope you'll tell me what about." He sounded a touch concerned. She patted at his arm reassuringly, wiping the corners of her eyes. 

"It's nothing, I just….hahaha...I just had the most idiotic thought. As lovely as this is, I can't bear for you to stop. And at the same time, I need for you to stop. Isn't that mad? It is, isn't it?"

"I think that depends on what you mean by ‘stop’. Have I done something? Are you uncomfortable?"

"No, no, no. I just...I want to move on. I need... I think I'm ready for the next bit."

Cid grinned deviously with understanding. "Oh? I'm not quite sure what you mean, love. 'Next bit?' I'm afraid you'll need to be a touch more specific."

"Must I? Cid…. I would like to...no, that's too crass, I won't say that. I want…"

"Go on…" Cid was kissing a highly distracting path up her neck to the underside of her jaw, lavishing attention there with teeth and tongue. He shouldn't tease her so, but she really did make it all too easy.

"I want you to...to make love to me." She muttered, shyly leaning away from his fervent affections, breathing heavy.

"Didn't catch that. A little louder, perhaps?" He was going to be in so much trouble later.

"Make love to me, dammit!" She griped, huffy and frustrated. Why must he bully her now?

Cid didn't mind in the slightest, enveloping her in his warm embrace. "As my lady commands", he laughed cheekily. "Perhaps it will be easier for you", he said, sitting up against the curved wall of the ship as best he could, "like this." Cid motioned her forward, pulling her onto his lap. "To give you more control of the pace. Then again, she's not exactly got the roomiest hull. You might bump your head…hmmm."

"If I'm careful", she murmured, leaning in close to kiss him just below his third eye, "it...it should be fine, probably. But I... I think I'd rather you be on top. If you're alright with that."

"Of course." Cid lay her gently down on the cot, hands making their way down her sides to rest at her hips, pulling them flush to his. He bit back a moan at the feel of her against him, wet and ready. 

"It's just... I'm a bit nervous, is all." Her heart was racing, pulse pounding at the feel of his length against her core, small rolls of his hips sending heat throughout, shivers following the path of his lips down her neck. "I...ah!...I can't...mhmph!"

Whatever it was she thought she couldn't do was lost as Cid claimed her lips, intent on drowning out her worries. If she wanted him to take care of her, he'd gladly do so; it was no failing on her part. Afterall, isn't that what she'd asked him to do?

Shy fingers trailed their way to the waistband of his smalls, pausing then tugging lightly. Cid broke their kiss, searching her eyes. "You're sure?" His voice was heavy with lust, undeniably eager to continue. But he had to be certain.

Era nodded, flushed but unashamed. "Please."

Removing them with haste, Cid lined himself up, Era bashfully looking anywhere but down at where they were joining. He kissed her once more, the ferocity easing her nervous mind as he entered.

He was much too large, surely. Or she was much too small. Era couldn't be sure which, and she couldn't bring herself to care with him kissing her so. There was no pain, thankfully his earnest preparations had seen to that, but Cid took her slowly all the same, giving her body a much needed moment to adjust to him. The stretch was the cause of some discomfort, unaccustomed as she was, but soon gave way to the oddest feeling. Fullness, warmth. With every ilm the feeling grew, and grew more pleasant for it. 

"Cid…" she panted, eyes half shut from the overflow of sensation. "Hmmm?" He had hilted, exercising as much restraint as he could muster waiting for her body to relax, his fingers digging into her hips from the effort. "I love you." She took his face in her hands, thumb caressing his lips. "So very much." "Era..." Words failed him. To be here, with her like this after all this time, he wasn't sure if he was more liable to sing or cry. Instead, he decided to show her. Love her in this way, that the depth of his feeling be undeniable. "I love you."

A tentative roll of Era's hips ushered him onward, starting with slow, intentional thrusts, mapping out her pleasure. Though she had little in the way of leverage in this position, Era rose to meet his every thrust admirably, greedy for the contact, savoring the feeling of renewed fullness with each stroke. She wanted so badly to kiss him, to be lost in him, but found it immeasurably difficult to take her eyes off of his beautiful face. He was a sight to behold, her beloved, awash with joy, powerful muscles flexing and glistening with the sheen of their mutual exertion. A curtain of silver shielded them from all the world as Cid rested his forehead on hers, third eye cooler to the touch than his searing skin.

Cid slipped his hand onto the small of her back, arching her ever closer into him, Era's breath catching as his touch grazed the base of her tail, said limb lashing about in answer. Stroking it, Cid found he could coax from her the most delightful whimpers, tenderly caressing the fine silken hairs to call forth even more of her lovely song.

Era, blessedly, was nearing her peak, hands fisting in his hair and clamoring at this back. Cid too, was struggling to hold on. It had been far too long since he had last done this, and she felt far too perfect around him, squeezing tighter and tighter as she neared release. He refused to be first, reaching between them to work her most sensitive spot, leaving her gasping for air. By his touch she was undone, unraveling around him with a soft cry. He followed after her, oaths muttered into the crook of her neck, having resisted longer than he could bear, spilling over into his love. 

Spilling.

And spilling.

… on second thought, he probably should have warned her...

Spent, they separated, fighting for air, basking in the afterglow. Their hands met, holding fast as they came down together. Looking over at Cid, Era thought he looked strangely... sheepish. "Era", he panted, "don't look down. It's nothing bad, there's just, there's a lot of… just let me get you cleaned up." 

A lot of what? She wondered, a odd trickling sensation answering her. Oh…

Cid rose from the cot wearily, utterly exhausted, rummaging through a nearby storage crate for a couple clean cloths and towels.

"No, I can do it myself, really, just hand me the towel!" She squeaked. She hadn't braved a look, but it was beginning to cool and she could feel it. They cleaned up in an abashed silence, Cid helpfully passing her another cloth when one proved insufficient.

"Cid?"

"Yes?"

"Is it always like this?"

"What? Ah... yes. Usually. Unless I've been.....Yes." His cheeks and ears were rather pink now. He nearly... there were some activities he'd prefer to keep to himself for the moment.

"Then I don't mind the mess."

"Oh?"

"It felt nice, frankly. It's a part of you. Also you're blushing."

"Am not." He was.

"Are." A mischievous grin spread across her face, as if it hadn't been she who was the blushing, stuttering mess not moments ago. "Do you think Vanu or Bismark or Sky Pirates will find us in the next bell or so?"

"I shouldn't think so, why?"

"I'd quite like a nap, if you'll join me." She patted at the cot beneath her, a towel laid over the worst of the wet spots.

"Good gods, a nap would be heavenly." He flopped down heavily beside her with a huff, pulling her onto his chest, promptly falling asleep. Era laughed, soon to follow.

[runswith]

Travel notes: Italy (Rome). Entry 7 - March 4, 2003

Today: the first occasion of blue, cloudless skies since last Thursday. Impossible to tell from my hotel room 'cause the ancient wooden shutters outside the window are locked closed. The alleyway outside (actually a step or two above an alleyway -- more like a narrow, cobblestone passageway, clean and lovely) is deep in shadow during the morning hours, providing no weather clues apart from rain/no rain. It's only when I step out the building's front door that I get the picture, and this morning's picture is a fine one, w/ fresh, cool air. I got out early enough that no tourists were about, only locals on their way to work, beginning the day's activities.

My current squat is located near the Trevi Fountain, a major tourist collection point that is to a fountain what Niagara Falls is to a place where water drops from somewhere high to somewhere lower. A mammoth grotto kind of thing, really, an enormous pool into which water falls by way of a sprawling, grandiose expanse of statuary and fake rocks, located at an intersection of narrow pedestrian ways deep within a tangle of winding backstreets. The sound of the water falling echoes off the surrounding buildings in a way that multiplies it to pleasing effect. I can see why it attracts so many out-of-towners: it's fun and, considering where it is, an example of charming, entrancing incongruity. (Did I actually write that? "Charming, entrancing incongruity"? Someone stop me, before I kill again.) Plus, the pool is actually laid out in front of a huge white building, and the statuary and fake porcelain rocks all kind of morph out of the building's front facade, which looks much more intriguing than I suspect it sounds.

Something I love about Rome: fountains. They're everywhere. And not just the big honkin' buggers with loads of water cascading down over heroic statues -- little ones also, tucked unobtrusively away on back streets or on busy corners. Teensy things, more like fonts, really -- small spigots from which a quiet, modest stream of water falls into basins of no more than a bucket's capacity and often far less, often overflowing to the sidewalk. Possibly channeling a natural spring into a lovely urban detail.

But I blather.

I skipped breakfast at the hotel this a.m. Yesterday morning's turned out to be a debacle -- the dining room is a cramped, microscopic space into which nine or so tables have been crammed, making it uncomfortable and nearly impossible to move around. Not a place that produced much happiness for diners or staff. I went out walking instead, stopping in at a neighborhood joint for a cup of morning espresso that went down in friendly fashion.

My body's had it with this trip, I think, w/ its many miles of roaming about every blessed day. Eating experiences that can vary drastically from meal to meal, from the sublime to the ridiculous (last night's dinner had both). This morning as I dragged myself out of bed it let me know clearly that it's ready to go home.

So. Yesterday's field trip: the Roman Forum and the Colosseum.

The Metro, nearly packed to capacity, reminded me all over again how much I love studying people and, in particular, people's faces. They're beautiful things, faces -- living, organic canvases on which the inner life gets aired out in delicate, complicated ways. Bodies are great, too, don't get me wrong (yowza!), but faces are a whole other thing. And the Metro or a crowded bus is a prime location for taking them in. Something which has to be done carefully, of course, since it can easily get intrusive. (What's that old George Carlin line about elevator rides? Something like, "Nothing to do but not look at the other guy.")

There were a few 20-something couples on the train yesterday a.m., all in a romantic mood. Standing close, arms around each other, kissing softly, talking quietly, occasionally closing their eyes and kissing deeply. Something I've gotten used to seeing in Madrid -- open, easy demonstrations of love, affection. (Make love, not war, etc.) Other people talked quietly or endured their morning ride, eyes closed, still waking up.

Got out at la estacion Colosseo, as I passed through the exit turnstiles a guy dressed in a Roman Centurion costume, complete with fake sword, crossed in front of me toward a newsstand, running into someone he knew, a person in business dress. They stopped, shook hands, exchanged loud, smiling greetings, conversed for a while. (Later, I saw more of his kind, standing in groups of two and three, calling out to tourists "Take your peecture weeth us!")

And outside, under a low, gray sky, the Colosseum loomed. Off to the right lay the Forum, I headed in that direction, up a long slope via an old, old, old cobblestone path. The Forum and the Palatine Hill turn out to cover many acres of land, a major spread of ancient real estate planted in the middle of the contemporary city. The hill provides quieter, more contemplative wandering, at times through gardens, complete with orange and lemon trees and groups of school kids from all over running around like puppies. Other sections are more wide open, strewn with ruins -- walls and foundations of buildings, bits of columns and statuary. All up on a bluff from which one can see modern Rome spread out on other hills, the sound of traffic coming and going on the wind.

And yesterday came with plenty of wind. In fact, it felt like a sudden return of winter. Cold, gray, somber, at times hostile. People walked around with collars up and coats zipped. The expanses of grass and clover between the ruins up on the hill were sprinkled with tiny flowers, blossoms of white, yellow, pink shivering in the chilly breeze.

At one point, I heard the sound of voices raised, turned to see a 30ish French couple having an argument. He threw an umbrella to the ground, she kicked it. He turned away, pulled out a guidebook, retreated into it. She picked up the umbrella. He wandered off out of view, she followed.

Shortly thereafter, a more placid group of French women passed -- two 30-somethings, two in their young 20s -- one of them reading aloud from a guidebook, her voice sounding like music in the cold air.

The other part of the Forum is down in a natural basin that covers quite a bit of land, an area crowded with the remains of large-scale structures -- temples, baths, a shell or two of what were enormous buildings, feats of engineering all. Alive, yesterday, with large groups of high-school age kids from Germany, France, Spain, Italy, guided by patient, good-humored older folks.

And the Colosseum. Not what I'd expected. Yes, the main structure remains what I'd seen in countless images. Inside, though -- not the clean, wide expanse of sand I'd pictured. The circular lower level is filled with the remains of a network of structures, above which there was apparently a surface at the level of first ring of seats in which the blood-spilling took place.

Scaffolding now provides what arena-level surface there now is -- a wide passage cutting across the middle of the arena, extremely cool to cross, with a large deck area at one end. I found that if I devoted much thought to the original use of the structure I didn't enjoy being there very much. If I simply enjoyed being present in the  moment -- the sun breaking through the clouds, people from all over the world in generally happy attendance -- I liked being there. I found stairs, headed up to the structure's top level, walked around there at a leisurely pace, discovering a short flight of steps that the original builders had thoughtfully provided for 21st century sunbathing. Parked my bum there, pulled out a copy of El País I'd picked up earlier and relaxed for a while, languages from all over the map drifting in the sunlit air around me.

One exceptional sight that presented itself to me: two 30ish German males in virtually identical black corduroy, vaguely cowboy-style suits -- matching black flared pants, black matching coats, vests, neckties, w/ white shirts and big, shiny buttons. Each wore a black cowboy hat, one of shiny leather, the other suede. Both wore thick-soled black shoes. They stood at the deck end of the arena-level scaffolding, leaning on the railing, studying the complicated network of structures on the ground floor, talking the entire time.

This world of ours: just one big kick in the ass.

[kzorcl]

KARA

the first thing she noticed was the open lamp on the table not far away from the kitchen counter. that usually indicated that her roommate was home, so kara made quick work of putting her shoes aside and collecting her bags on one shoulder to haul them up on her loft. it wasn't a hard task, having been doing so for the past few months, and it's practically muscle memory leading her into the bathroom right after making sure that she hadn't left a mess at the common area. showering was also a quick affair, not wanting to occupy it for too long or, simply, not wanting to stay downstairs lest she risked bumping into her roommate which... wasn't usually a bad thing. things were just awkward between them, at least, for kara, it was. sighing, she stepped out of the bathroom whilst drying her hair, fully expecting to make an uninterrupted trip back to the upper deck, but someone was standing only a few feet away from her, startling her into a halt. "lena," she gasped, then breathed out softly as she lowered down her towel. "hi. i'm sorry. i just got back from practice..."

LENA

lena returned from class early today, making her way to her bedroom and reading a book as she passed the time until she could go out that evening. the majority of her lesson had been test prep she didn’t really need, so she decided to make her way back to her own apartment rather than waste her time with information she already knew well. she can hear when kara arrives home, the familiar rustling of bags the only indication the usually silent blonde was in the home. she continues reading her book, until she decides to make herself a light snack, heading to the kitchen only to run right into her shy roommate. lena isn’t overly surprised kara seems startled to see her. the blonde kept to herself and seemed more apt to avoid the other woman than to actively seek her out. not that lena minded, some people weren’t interested in being as social as an heiress socialite, and kara’s shyness allowed her to not feel like she had to impress or put on a show in their apartment. lena was introverted herself, not that she seemed it when she was out impressing her friends with equally impressive family names. “i didn’t know you played soccer.” lena muses with a little smile, realizing she didn’t know a lot about kara, which was a little disappointing. “the season must just be starting, you know if your parents come to town for any of your games they can stay here. i can make myself scarce for your family i really wouldn’t mind dear.”

KARA

their interactions prior to that evening haven't gone past polite greetings and quiet farewells, so for lena to actually bring up a topic that could potentially lead to a longer conversation was definitely a huge surprise for kara. she suddenly felt a little meek, curling her fingers into her towel as she stood a little taller, swallowing thickly as she searched for the right words to give back.  "i've only been with them for a few months so... i don't exactly have that place in the team... yet," she replied, which was true. whilst her coach had been impressed by her performance from high school, the truth was: there were better people already in the team, so the past few months have been dedicated into proving herself to her members and her coach, so she could at least have a place during the big event. kara chuckled quietly, almost sardonically, at the thought of her parents ever coming to any of her games. it was a funny thought, an impossible one, of course, considering that her parents were locked up and would never see the light of day again until they're ready to die. she shook her head gingerly and fiddled with the edge of her towel. "they're not coming," she said in lieu of the truth. "they never did. my- alex might come, though and she's just one person so..." she looked up at lena, only for a few, short seconds, before lowering her gaze down on her towel. it was an unspoken truth to kara, but it was undeniable how attractive her roommate was. "... anyway, you don't have to make yourself scarce. she can just stay in my bed."

LENA

lena’s lips curl into a reassuring smile as she notices kara’s fingers fiddling with the towel. she knew she made kara nervous, so she did her best to try to reassure her with gentle smiles when speaking to her. she wasn’t overly surprised her roommate was an athlete, kara was very physically fit. a fact lena herself was very aware of, even if she did her best not to gawk at her shy roommate’s body. she raises an eyebrow when kara laughs at the thought of her parents coming, a little surprised by that particular reaction. “your parents never come to your soccer games? that’s not very kind. is alex your sister?” lena asks, tilting her head. “i dont actually know much about your family, i suppose i’m a rotten roommate for not asking. i’m sure you know about my family, everyone does. though I promise lex is kinder than most people make him out to be. does your family live in town? is it just you and alex?” lex had been over a handful of times, though he hadn’t really interacted with kara directly. he typically likes to tease lena about her attractive roommate who was totally his sister’s type, but wasn’t about to scare kara by forcing her to speak to him.

KARA

sometimes, it is so easy to forget about reservations one has in life. the smile on lena's face isn't exactly new to kara; has always been directed quite a few of them every single day because despite the reputation that precedes her, kara has known her to be polite and kind to her. kara still doesn't appreciate the noisy friends coming over now and then during friday nights, but kara appreciates that her roommate has enough respect and cordiality for her to not antagonize her on a daily basis. but then the questions don't stop and kara finds herself wanting to brood more than anything else. it's a little surprising to know that her roommate, of all people - the very person she think who'd know everything about her given the number of people she surrounds herself with every day, doesn't know anything about the zorel case. she stomps her anger down and chooses to focus on the gratefulness that comes with lena's ignorance about the matter, but somehow, she knows that ignorance won't last very long. "they never came," she replies, choosing to be vague than direct instead. "and alex is not my sister. she's... someone special to me." it's at this point that kara finally remembers to walk away from the bathroom's entrance, hovering at the opposite side of the island instead so she's closer to her roommate without taking up too much personal space. "you're not rotten for it, don't worry. i haven't bothered asking you about your family, too, you know. i only know that you and your brother love to have parties and... that's it. i choose to create my own opinion about people instead of believing what others say about them."

LENA

lena raises an eyebrow, noticing the anger flash across kara’s face which surprises her. she had never seen her roommate irate, or even annoyed, so the fact she has a reaction to simple questions about her family is definitely something that she wasn’t expecting. kara’s answer is simple, it answers the question in so few words, lena can read the social cues to drop the questions about her family. “She’s special to you? Do you have a girlfriend I don’t know about?” Lena asks with a friendly chuckle, though her chest feels uncomfortable at the feeling of Kara having someone in her life. She tries not to overanalyze it, but she’s a bit jealous of this Alex character she had never met. she tilts to look at kara, smiling softly when kara assures her she’s not rotten. “that’s all you know about my family?” lena asks, a relieved smile on her lips. “thank god, this whole school seems obsessed with the perfect prestigious luthor family, and...they arent perfect. i hope you create your own opinion of them and dont listen to others, the luthors put on a public show.” lena says with a little rueful chuckle. “yes, we do like to have parties. you’ve never come to one by the way, and i was hoping you would.”

KARA

"she is-" kara blinks at the follow-up question, which immediately prompts a snort from her. the thought of dating alex is so laughable that she forgets her manners and inevitably drifts into a full-belly laugh. it takes her no more than two seconds to remember herself though, pursing her lips quickly with a subtle shake of her head. "alex is special to me, but not that special, i'm afraid. i'm too busy with sports and studies to ever consider having a partner. for now, anyway." kara reciprocates the smile, albeit softer and showing more in the crinkles around her eyes as she lowers herself on one of the stools. she's not the best when it comes to talking about family relationships, never really had one to base on other than alex and the danvers', so it is a little odd, makes her feel lost in navigating this particular topic. "so, you're celebrities, then. i think that's to be expected, no? you're filthy rich, your parents are out there, and..." she shrugs. "you have a brother who obviously cares a lot about you. and... about that," she chuckles in embarrassment. "parties aren't really my scene. the only party i've ever been was months ago, required by our captain for team building but, other than that, i prefer to stay here." she purses her lips. "i'm sorry."

LENA

lena smiles in relief when kara bursts into laughter at the thought of being with this alex character. she had never heard her roommate laugh like this, and she likes it. kara seems more relaxed,  more joyful when she’s laughing. “i’m sorry for assuming, well if alex is special to you she’s welcome here any time.” lena nods, celebrities was a fair word to describe the luthor family, even if she detested it, it was accurate. “my brother does care a lot about me. lex is rough around the edges and can be a bit much, especially at parties but he’s a good man and treats me well. he’s always been there for me since the luthors took me in. and, he’s my best safety when my filthy rich parents are out of line.” lena says, her tone serious for a moment before she quickly changes the subject, opening her mouth in a joking display of shock that kara hadn’t been to one of their parties. “maybe parties aren’t your scene but luthor parties are everyone’s scene. maybe i’ll convince you to come some day. you can bring alex.”

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 31 - Arrival

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Fifteenth day of Justinian, 9:32 Dragon 

It took the Siren’s Call another two days to sail around the northern points of the Storm Islands and reach Dunedyn, stronghold of the Clayne. The weather had stayed clear, with stiff winds that pushed the ship onwards through waters that grew ever busier with foreign ships, traders and humble fishing vessels alike that gave them a wide berth or yelled cheery halloos across the white-tipped waves. Now, anchored south of the hold in the deep, sheltered waters of the Lee, the settlement’s brightly painted buildings stood out like jewels against an emerald hillside, the rope of a rich necklace draped over contours of rock leading down towards the harbour. That would be the ship’s final destination, but only once the most important members of the delegation went ashore and made their formal greetings to the Storm Giant and his retainers. 

Already dressed in her finery, Rosslyn stood by the bowsprit, her eyes cast out over a trio of fishing trawlers closing their nets around a shoal of mackerel, and the birds above them taking advantage of the easy meal. Lilac and gold, the morning sky warmed her face, wrapping her in isolation from the commotion on the deck as the longboats were loosed from their moorings and lowered over the side. Somewhere close by, Cuno, roused from his torpor by the activity, was barking at a seagull that had had the audacity to perch on one of the port lanterns. She paid him no heed. In less than an hour she would be face to face with her grandfather again, would have to look him in the eye and remember she was the one who had gone chasing glory and left the Seawolf to die. 

“Guess that answers my question,” said a voice at her elbow. She blinked and turned to see Tabris, her hair braided and clothes washed, but still with bare feet stained by streaks of tar. ”No one with a face that puckered like an arsehole ain’t nervous.” 

Rosslyn scowled at the description, but shrugged it off and turned away. 

“Riiiiight,” the elf huffed. ”Reassuring, that is.” 

Rosslyn’s mouth quirked in a humourless smile. “I wouldn’t have thought I’d be your first choice for reassurance.” 

“You know what they say about beggars,” came the tart reply. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

There was a pause as Tabris clambered onto the rail, chewing her lips in a rare show of deliberation as she decided her answer. Even despite the added height, she came in almost a head shorter than the human woman. 

“See, I’ve been tryin’ to figure,” she said once she was settled. “You shems have got enough fancy words and blood ties between you, you don’t need me to get your ships. So what am I doin’ here? You got me out of baldy-whatshisface’s clutches, and I heard the tellin’-off you gave the princeling, but don’t go thinking I’m fooled that you’re doing this for the elves.” 

“You’re right, I’m not,” Rosslyn answered bluntly. “I’m doing this to get revenge on the cur that murdered my family, and to stop Loghain bringing in reinforcements that he can use to win the war, so that I won’t be hanged at the end of it.” She tilted a wry look at over her shoulder when the elf opened her mouth to speak and closed it again just as quickly. ”Was that not the response you expected?”

“Got the arrogance about right.”

“What does it matter if I care, so long as our goals align?” she asked. “You care, and that’s why you’re here – it’s why you tried to rescue your kin and then ran all the way to Redcliffe, through a war-torn country, on the off-chance the king would help you when you couldn’t do it alone. The Clayne will listen to you, don’t worry about that.” 

“I’m worried about after,” Tabris sneered when Rosslyn once more turned her attention to the sea. “What happens to me after I’ve cheeped like a sparrow for you to get your soldiers? I killed a shem lordling.”  

“The king has pardoned you.” 

The elf scoffed and tossed her hair out of her eyes. “And of course that makes all this –” she gestured vaguely to her ears “– magically disappear. You lot have no clue – and don’t think I didn’t notice about not being invited to this little beach party you’re having. What are you even looking at out there?” 

With a sigh, Rosslyn raised her hand and pointed to a speck above the circling gulls, which grew out of the glare of the sun like an after-image. “It’s a gwyrling – they’re like griffons, but smaller. It’s rare to see one, especially at this time of day. It must have hatchlings in the cliffs.” 

The speck solidified into a creature with narrow, barred wings and a wickedly curved beak. In the space of a heartbeat, it swerved on a point and dived among the flock of gulls and they scattered, screaming in alarm. One, weighed down with the prize of a fish between its claws, dodged too slowly, and didn’t even have time to cry out as the gwyrling punched down and struck it across the back of the neck. The bird went limp, the fish wriggled free and splashed back into the water, and the gwyrling beat back up into the air with a flick of its long, leonine tail. 

“That was really something,” Tabris drawled. 

“The Clayne have augurs who would certainly think so,” Rosslyn replied, betraying a hint of impatience. “They read patterns in the flight of birds and use it to interpret the will of the Lady of the Skies.” 

“You believe in that tosh? What future gets predicted by that?” 

“That would depend.” She smirked. “Are you the gull, the gwyrling, or the fish?” 

“Your Ladyship!” Morrence hopped up to the deck, looking small in the light leather armour she and the others had adopted for the journey. Her hair too, was braided out of her eyes, a far cry from the practical tail she usually wore. “We’re almost ready to go, but His Highness is still below.” She spared a cool glance for Tabris and back to wait for orders. 

Rosslyn glanced to see the first of the boats being lowered over the side. “I’ll see what’s keeping him. And as for you,” she added, lowering her voice as she turned back to Tabris. “The sea doesn’t care what you are, and the gods don’t care if you believe in them or not. They help those who help themselves, and out here, there aren’t any alienage walls to hold you back.” 

“Surprised you managed to get all those fancy words out around that silver spoon stuck in your gob.” 

Alistair stood in front of the mirror borrowed from the captain’s quarters, trying not to sweat in his new clothes. The stuffy cabin didn’t help, but it was Brantis fussing with the lay of his sleeves, shooting questions about what he should do in increasingly specific and unlikely situations, that really had him agitated. With the outcome of the war hanging on the success of the mission, and Rosslyn’s grandfather being the person he had to impress, anything shy of tripping over his own boots and falling flat on his face would be reason to celebrate.  

“And with which hand should you give an item on the table, should you be asked for it?” Brantis asked in his reedy voice. 

“Is that a likely scenario?” How many people just casually asked royalty to pass the salt? 

“It does to prepare for all eventualities, Highness,” came the officious reply. 

 Sighing, Alistair turned his attention back to his outfit, to the contemplation of whether the rose pattern stitched into his jerkin was too much. As far as he could tell in the dim light, the red and gold suited the tone of his skin, and set off well against the bright cream of his shirt. He had already tested the practicality of the ensemble. Given that it lacked the ostentation favoured by those like Franderel, he still had enough range of movement to be able to fight without tearing a seam if the situation called for it, though the heavy, fur-trimmed mantle he had been forced into might make him choke with the heat first. 

He paused on his reflection, letting his eyes drift over the snarling shapes tooled into the rich leather. He never thought to sport the War Dogs, the symbol of the bloodline that had once discarded him, and yet there they were, one on each shoulder, offering a legitimacy that for the first time felt like something lighter than a curse. 

Brantis was still fussing. 

“Surely I’m ready now? I’m really not sure how much more preparation I can take. Surely it would be better to… uh…” 

Rosslyn stood in the doorway. His eyes dragged up and down her form, drinking in every detail. 

“How are things proceeding?” she asked as she glided into the room. A varnished box canted against her hip, tucked under her arm. 

“Quite well, Your Ladyship,” Brantis replied. “Quite well. His Highness will do us proud, if he will remember his manners.” 

Alistair blinked. “What?” 

He had been too busy staring to listen. The grey shimmer of her light coat brought out the sharp colour of her eyes, the cut of the material flared out from swaying hips, the deep blue inner lining a backdrop for white doeskin breeches that clung to deep curves and lithe, strong legs. When he managed to pull his gaze from that sight, it caught instead on the set of her shoulders and the way the open collar accentuated the fine tendons of her throat. She turned her head and her hair, pouring artfully over one shoulder, gleamed gold where a wreath of aurum leaves curled around from a knot at the nape of her neck. The whole effect was understated but striking, a casual display of power leagues away from the ill-fitting dress she had worn on Summerday.  

“… and your esteemed grandfather will of course have the final word.” 

They had carried on an entire conversation without him. Glancing between Brantis’ sidelong, exasperated looks and Rosslyn’s dry amusement, he felt heat flare all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Will you leave us?” she asked the chamberlain, with a touch of pink in her own pale cheeks. 

Brantis bowed and hobbled away, and the two of them were alone. She crossed to a bulkhead and set down the box she had brought with her, which had completely slipped his attention in his ogling. Curious, he made out her personal sigil on the lid – a Falcon gripping a Laurel branch in its talons – but she had already crossed the space to stand in front of him and his throat dried up too much to ask about it. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked. 

He tried to laugh. “Well, right now I’m not quite sure whether the eels rolling around in my stomach are there because of seasickness or nerves…” Or how stunning you look. He swallowed. To cover the treacherous line of his thoughts, he turned back to the mirror and brushed his hands down his front. “This lot could feed a family for a month – I feel like such a fool in it.” 

“Ah, but you don’t look like one,” she pointed out, grinning. “That’s the important thing.” 

“Ha-ha.” 

Fighting back her smirk, she appraised his attire with a critical eye, then came forward to readjust the seams Brantis had been playing with for half an hour, loosening them enough to give him room to breathe again. In theory. 

“It suits you.” Her hand lingered on his chest, the heat of her palm seeping through the fabric. 

He coughed. “There’s, uh, not as much gilt as I was expecting.” 

“Only merchants and Rivaini aristocrats weight themselves down with gold,” she chided gently. “Nobility should be seen in how you carry yourself, and there’s more besides – patronage of the arts, appreciation of craftsmanship, the cultivation of taste… actually, on that note, I have something for you – a gift.” Her glance darted away to the box on the bulkhead and he found himself following her as she went to retrieve it. 

“Rosslyn…” 

“I meant to give it to you later, on the island, but I thought… it might give you some extra confidence.” She chuckled, the smooth certainty of a moment before faltering as she held it out to him. “It seems silly to say that out loud.” 

“Not at all! This – this is for me?” he checked. “Really? I – wow, I don’t – I mean…” He could count on one hand the number of gifts he had received in his life, and the number that had come unprompted… well, that required significantly fewer fingers. 

She shrugged, flustered. “It’s nothing too grand, but it’s a tradition for vassals of the realm to give a gift to the heir apparent once their status is made official, and when we were delayed in Invermathy, I realised it completely slipped my mind. There’s an artisan there who used to work for my family and –”  

He reached out to touch her shoulder, to snap her out of her sudden nervousness, and the edge of his thumb accidentally brushed her neck – he never expected the skin there to be so smooth. 

“You still need to open it,” she said in a small voice.  

He started, cleared his throat, snapped his gaze to the box resting on his palm and bit his lip as he flicked the catch on the lid. A gift, entirely for him. 

He stared. Nestled in a cushion of blue velvet was a pair of leather vambraces embossed with intertwining shapes dyed in a multitude of colours. He recognised dragons, and eagles, and forefront of them all a red War Dog rampant with a gold-petalled rose caught in its snarling teeth. The workmanship was exquisite, almost too perfect to wear for fear of damage, the tooling so precise it seemed as if the figures had been persuaded rather than worked into the leather. 

“These must have been expensive,” he blurted.  

Rosslyn’s face, an instant before so open and anxious waiting for his approval, closed off, a sour line pulling at her mouth. 

“A gift is worth more than its base value, don’t you think?” she asked.  

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to imply – I mean, I know with the war and everything you’ve had to –” 

“The condition of my finances is none of your concern,” she snapped. “I wasn’t thinking of the expense.”

“No, I know - Rosslyn…” He sighed, staring across the chasm of space that had suddenly risen between them, without her moving a muscle. “I’m sorry I offended you. So much for the start of an illustrious diplomatic career, don’t you think?”  

She searched his face, stung pride warring with doubt and something else that flitted by too quickly for him to name. 

“What did you mean to say?” The question was teased out slowly, deliberately. 

“Only that…” Maker, let him get the right words this time. “Nobody’s ever thought of me enough to – to do something like this for me. I only ever got things that were practical before – I used to go to bed at night and pray to the Maker to make me grow taller so the housekeeper would be forced to make me a new shirt, but it didn’t work nearly as often as I hoped.” He chuckled, but the tale only made her brows contract. “This… I am truly grateful – truly – I don’t know how else to express my gratitude, I…”  

“You like them, then?”  

He nodded. “They’re… Would you help me put them on?” 

She smiled, the tension disappeared from her shoulders, and everything was alright again as she raised her hands to take the box from him. The vambraces lifted easily out of the velvet pile, stiff and polished and smelling of beeswax, with just the right amount of give in the straps. Rosslyn returned and brushed his hands away so she could do up the knots for him, working the laces through the eyeholes with a deftness that had Alistair transfixed. When the first one was fitted to her satisfaction, she turned to the other, and his free hand settled on her waist, supple leather and samite warm under his fingertips. 

“What is that?” he asked. 

She glanced up. “What?” 

“That smell, some kind of flowers – in your hair.” 

“Oh.” She tucked a phantom strand behind her ear, biting her lip. “It’s jasmine.” 

“Jasmine,” he repeated as she went back to her task. “It’s nice.” 

“Thanks… All done.” 

He held up his hand to view her handiwork. The knots were neat, the vambrace itself well-fitted - not long enough to impede his movement but not so short that it made his arm look overly brawny. Rosslyn was smiling at him, patient, bemused by the childish enthusiasm he betrayed in his admiration of the War Dog snarling on his arm. 

“I know you didn’t expect anything,” he admitted, swallowing past the lump in his throat, “but I think I’m a little bit sorry I don’t have anything for you in return.” 

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything for this.” 

But her gaze flickered to his mouth, just a tiny movement of her eyes which he caught nevertheless, and he wondered if perhaps she was daring to ask for the return in a kiss. He wanted her to ask. They stood so close she had to tilt her head back to see him properly, so close his hand still on her waist felt the soft swell of her ribs as she breathed, the tension running like corded rope through her limbs. Beneath them, the ship pitched in the swell, tilting them further into each other’s space, and he realised if they did this now he wouldn’t want to stop. 

“We – we should go,” he managed, to keep himself from staring. 

She loosed a breath – relief? disappointment? – and stepped back. “We – yes. The tide will turn soon. It wouldn’t be a very good first impression to keep the Storm Giant waiting seven hours for it to turn back.” 

“Right. Yes, of course, just let me…” He reached past her for his sword belt and buckled it while she waited, and then followed her out of the cabin. They kept a careful distance as they strode up into the light and bustle of the deck, to Isabela barking orders so she could be heard over the noise of the dog, and Morrence already setting Connor into the first longboat next to Wynne.  

“Your turn next, Your Highness,” she said as they approached, offering a hand to help him over the rail. “Don’t think about the drop.” 

“You could have told me that before I looked,” he replied, and peered dubiously over the side. The longboat floated fifteen feet below, still lashed to the hull of the ship but rolling against the moorings like a horse tossing its head at flies. One false step on the frankly perilous ladder and he could easily fall between the two barks and be trapped underneath, dragged down into the depths by the weight of his fancy clothes. 

“There’s nothing to it,” Rosslyn reassured him with a squeeze of his shoulder. “I’ll go ahead and guide you down.” 

The tails of her coat flared behind her as she swung over the side, almost as nimble as one of the sailors. Only Alistair saw the white grip of her knuckles on the ropes, and the careful frown as she judged the last step between the ladder and the boat, but she smiled encouragement up at him. 

“Move one limb at a time,” she instructed. “Like you’re a lizard.” 

“Am I a handsome lizard at least?” 

She only rolled her eyes.

“Is the Storm Giant scary?” Connor asked, when Alistair had finally inched the last few steps into the boat. “I heard he can kill someone he doesn’t like just by looking at them.” 

“What nonsense,” Wynne chided next to him. “Not even a basilisk can do that.” 

Rosslyn shifted in her seat and winked at the arl’s son. “The Storm Giant isn’t a basilisk.” 

A shout came from above and the lines holding them to the Siren’s Call went slack, gathered in by two of the crew, who scrambled down the ladder and took their places, one in the rowing seat and one by the tiller. With a final salute to the captain, the rower pushed off from the side with the butt of an oar, with enough force to drive them out into open water. The second boat with their guard-captains and herald followed shortly after, two motes of dust on a clear blue slate. Though the water was mostly calm, spray curled back at them from the oars, and once a rogue wave slapped against the hull, rocking them all sideways. Rosslyn flinched, a muttered curse hissing under her breath, but gentle fingers wrapped around hers where they clung to the board, and she shot a grateful smile to Alistair next to her. 

 They made it through the breakers mostly unsoaked, though the moment they touched solid ground jarred hard enough to make Alistair fall forward and smack his knee against the hull. Rubbing out the tingles, he straightened and stepped out onto a beach of black pebbles, unable to help craning his neck at the sheer basalt cliffs warding back the sea. The ground swayed beneath him, but no, it was just his balance reasserting itself after so long on the water. 

“Is landsickness a thing?” he asked Rosslyn. “Because I think I have it. This feels weird.” 

“You’ll get used to dry land again, just in time to make the crossing back,” she laughed as she stepped out next to him. 

“Who’s that on the path?” Connor called from the boat.  

The rest of the party turned to where he was pointing. A set of rough stairs had been cut into the rock, commanding a view over the whole bay as it carved down from the emerald cliffs above. There was no other way up, at least not that Alistair could see, and he tried not to think about the potential consequences of a bad first impression; the tidemark stained the rock a full armspan above his head, and with no other shelter from the waves, the defenders would only have to wait.   

And there was the Storm Giant himself, Lord Fearchar Mac Eanraig, bearing down on them. Tall, with a shock of flyaway white hair and broad shoulders wrapped in dyed plaidweave, he marched at the head of his retinue with the pride of a full-crown hart, an enormous spiked mace girded at his hip. Without quite thinking about it, Alistair drew closer to Rosslyn’s side as their host descended the last few strides towards them. She noticed, and brushed her hand along his thumb in a brief show of reassurance. But when he caught her eye, she wasn’t smiling.  

[aprettystrangeblog]

Home

It was small, but it was home.

Nestled far down in the streets of uptown New York, in an unassuming leaf-brown apartment building at the end of the block, Bucky Barnes threw his front door open with a sigh. The door knocker clanged softly in welcome, the simple brass wrought in the shape of a hand whacking itself against the mark it had worn into the yellow paint of the door. The thing was the color of a kindergartner's crayon sun, and it had a couple shallow dents in it from the few times he’d yanked the door open too hard, but it was still a shining beacon of safety. Home.

“Hey, Stars ‘n Stripes,” he mumbled, tossing his keys into a bowl beside the front door. A slightly tubby tabby cat made a soft ‘mrrp’ sound in reply, nestled safe in his favorite bed beneath the key bowl’s shelf.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Bucky smiled, giving the cat an affectionate scratch on the chin with his gloved left hand. Stars ‘n Stripes stretched, his shadows-in-a-forest fur rippling contentedly as Bucky pulled back to rip his glove off and toss it aside.

He was home. No one but the cats here to see the glint of silver metal.

It was nice.

“Spots? Hey, hey—“

Bucky lunged forwards as another cat— a tiny little black and white thing— shot out from under the couch to snatch up Bucky’s glove in her tiny toothy jaws.

“Hey!”

Spots shot back under the couch with a proud glint in her eye, back paws scrabbling against faded hardwood flooring to get back under the sofa.

“Fine, fine, keep it,” Bucky relented, eyes crinkling as peered at the glowing yellow slits in the darkness and wobbled back to his feet. She’d feel accomplished, at least. Everyone needed that sometimes.

Bucky let her be and stretched upwards, inhaling the scent of home. Old carpet and dusty paper and clean linen and fur, and under it all the barest hint of the fresh loaves of bread he’d baked yesterday. Everything smelled calm and soft old and new at the same time, the way a log cabin should, or a museum exhibit that’s been up just a little too long. 

The worn leather jacket was shrugged onto the hook by the sofa, the rugged boots kicked off onto the carpet. The sun-bleached rug belched a cloud of dust and thread into the air as the soles of his shoes landed on it, but Bucky almost welcomed the sneeze it caused him. He nudged a couple of fallen Sudoku books aside with his toe as he wound between cat toys and other stranded objects on the floor in order to get into the kitchen, humming a vaguely 40s jazz tune to himself as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Steve was right— having a routine like this really did help. It was a huge comfort to slip into the familiar, safe motions of grabbing the twin cat food dishes from the sink and measuring out a quarter cup of Meow Mix into each, then perching himself on the counter rather like a cat himself as Spots and Stars ‘n Stripes pattered their way over to eat.

Comforting.

Bucky watched the evening sunlight pour in from the window above the sink contentedly, idly fiddling with a loose thread in his sweatshirt. Something had changed after getting his own place, after feeling as though he’d finally settled into some sort of strange domestic life.

Not that the compound and everyone there wasn’t a welcoming prospect, of course. But here… Bucky could forget. Not that he ever truly did, or wanted to. But here he could let go and grab onto something new. Different. Here he could sit and watch the stars for hours— the same stars that watched over him in Siberia, the same stars that kept him sane. The same lights that lit the sky the night he found himself again.

Spots meowed on the floor, having mostly polished her bowl of food off already, interrupting Bucky’s train of thought.

“Already? Really?” Bucky picked up the dish, giving the tuxedo cat’s ear a tickle. “I dunno where you put that all away, little lady. Dang.”

Spots purred softly, deciding to thank Bucky for dinner by chewing happily on his metal fingers.

“Geez, you’re a feisty thing,” Bucky chuckled, the sound still timid and quiet after finally being found again after so long. “Let go sweetheart, I should go feed the others.”

Spots gave him a reproachful kitty glare and marched across the floor to try and mooch kibble off of Stars ‘n Stripes, leaving Bucky to gather up the half empty food bag and tiptoe out of the kitchen.

Down the hall, past the bathroom, past his cozy bedroom with the pinstripe blue sheets he and Steve found at Walmart and the framed photos on the walls, down to the back door to the itty bitty outdoor porch. Perks of having to rent the only available first-floor apartment, Bucky supposed.

He cracked the door open, peering outside at the weather-worn wooden deck. A skinny black cat was curled up on the nearest guard rail, one eye lazily blinking open upon hearing the creak of the hinges.

“Oh, Steve 2,” Bucky murmured conversationally, slipping outside lightly. “Didn’t expect to see you out here. Where’s the other strays, mm?”

Steve 2 blinked slowly, huffing a sigh before stretching back out across the railing.

“Good talk, good talk,” Bucky waved, lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the greying wood. “How about we feed you guys, huh?”

Bucky raised his hands to his mouth and made a kissy noise, not particularly caring if the neighbors saw or heard. They were probably used to this by now.

And so were the strays— several of them poked their heads out from under the deck or the surrounding foliage, ears perked up at the call that meant the crazy cat man with the metal arm was here to feed them again.

There was the soft headbutt from behind, and Bucky swiveled himself around to face a battle-scarred grey tomcat, his whiskers twitching amiably.

“Hey, Grandpa Tom—“ Bucky reached forwards, giving the feline a gentle pat before feeling for its front right paw. It was neatly wrapped in bandages, a little dirty by now, but Bucky was proud to see his handiwork from yesterday was still holding strong.

“How’s the paw?” he asked Tom, carefully checking the wrappings to make sure they were alright for now. “I’ll come back out and rebandage you back up later, but let’s feed you guys first.”

Bucky reached his hand into the bag and poured a handful of Meow Mix onto the deck in front of Tom, who twitched his tail silently and sniffed at Bucky’s fingers gratefully before bowing his head towards the food.

A twin chorus of meows started up from the other side of Bucky’s food bag, announcing the arrival of Bella and Stella, the resident sister-like orange kittens who approached with their bottlebrush tails held high.

“Aw, it’s my favorite girls, back again.” Bucky smiled, reaching back into the bag of kibble to distribute food out to the newcomers. “Who else wants dinner?”

A patchy siamese chittered in reply, skittering out from a bush and across the splintery wooden planks to wind around Bucky’s arm.

“Steve 3, nice of you to come by. I heard you broke into the neighbor’s car yesterday morning, did you get cold again?” Bucky poured out an extra helping of food for the scruffy cat, giving it an affectionate scratch on the tiny bald patch behind its ear as it clambered across his metal fingers in excitement.

“I’ve been saving up for a sweater for you, y’know. Steve told me I should take up knitting instead of getting one off Amazon, even showed me the yarn aisle at the store. Can’t believe they actually have those now.” The dark haired man shook his head, the hair in his messy bun coming a bit looser. “What would you think of that, huh? Ex soldier knitting his cold cat a sweater? Guess it might be good for mental health. Solid hobby, y’know. Rainbow yarn might suit ya.”

Steve 3 ‘mrrrrp’ed softly at the ramblings of his human companion, content to hunker down and snack on the food he’d brought.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky chuckled, getting up to spread the last of the food out into small piles on the edge of the deck for the more timid strays— Steve 4 and 5, the elusive Bamboo, and Wizard, the reddish one with a missing tail who only ever showed up once in a while. Bucky still left him his pile of Meow Mix regardless.

Satisfied, Bucky lounged back on the slats of the deck, stretching out on his legs. Feeding the strays out here every night, sitting and feeling the fresh air on his face and the moon begin to rise as the color faded… it was nice. More peaceful than he’d felt in a long time. As dumb as it might have been, Bucky felt valuable here. Worth something more than the sum of his parts— even if it just meant he was the crazy cat dad to a small herd of strays.

“Mmmrow?”

“Hm?” Bucky tore his eyes away from the horizon to look down at his lap, where a tiny, snow white kitten had appeared.

“Oh, hello Happy—“

The kitten ‘mrrrrp’ed pleasantly and clambered onto Bucky’s lap— perhaps not the most elegantly, as it was missing the lower half of one of its front legs, but made itself comfortable regardless.

“You and me both, huh,” Bucky murmured, touching the cat’s leg with the gentlest of forefingers. “We should get matching prosthetics, you and me. Tony could probably put a little cat silhouette on yours, yeah?”

Happy merely yawned, snuggling his tiny nose into the crook of Bucky’s elbow without further comment.

“Okay, yeah, I don’t mind being a pillow for—“

A jazzy version of the national anthem blared from Bucky’s back pocket, cutting off his sentence and startling the tiny cat. Careful not to move Happy from the snuggly position on his lap, he shifted slightly so he could yank his ringing phone out from where it was sandwiched between himself and the deck, hitting the ‘accept call’ button in one smooth motion.

“Steve?”

“Hey Buck—“

Bucky smiled at the nickname, scratching Happy behind the ears as he settled back against the deck railing. “What’s up?”

“Just calling to check up on you. Everything alright over at your place?”

“Yeah, definitely—!” He leaned back, scooching Happy closer to the crook of his elbow so he could cross one of his legs. “Just fed the cats dinner, and now I’m sitting out on the deck just watching the sun go down. You’re right, being outside at this time of night is… really calming.”

Steve’s voice on the other end of the line sounded like sunshine after a storm. “Little things really help, huh?”

“Yeah. They really do.”

“Man. I’m so proud of you, Buck.” Steve shifted on the other end of the phone, his voice crackling like an old record. “Really.”

“Geez, well I, uh—“ Bucky bit his lip, flustered, unsure of how exactly to respond to praise. After all this time it still felt foreign, alien. But Steve’s words made him feel warm all the same.

“Thanks, Steve,” he murmured softly after a moment, a few strands of dark hair falling down onto his face.

“You deserve it.” Bucky could almost hear him smiling on the other side. “Hey, have you eaten tonight though?”

“Uh, no, not yet, I wanted to sit outside for a bit first.”

“How ‘bout I come pick you up for some dinner, then? There’s this great take-out place a couple blocks away from your place. Yelp says it had great reviews, and I— god, I still can’t believe there’s a whole site dedicated to reviewing places, right? It’s makes things so easy!”

Bucky laughed, tossing his head back to get the hair out of his face. “I’d really like that,” he admitted quietly, shifting to hold Happy better in his arm.

“Awesome. Seven thirty sound good?”

“Seven thirty it is.”

“Okay Buck. See you soon.”

“See ya, Stevie.”

Click.

Bucky lowered his phone, setting it down on the deck for a moment. Dinner. Dinner with Steve.

“Ya hear that, Happy?” He tickled the sleepy kitten’s nose, making him blink upwards at him. “Steve’s gonna take me out for dinner.”

Happy made a squeaking noise.

“Right, right, I should probably go put something nicer than this ragged old sweatshirt on—“

Bucky collected Happy in his arms and stood up, trying to juggle his phone and the white kitten in his hands at the same time.

“You wanna come inside for tonight?” Bucky asked Happy, nestling the cat onto his shoulder. “I’ll set up a heating pad for you at the end of my bed, just like Monday. Yeah?”

Happy mrowed out something that sounded enough like a noise of agreement to make Bucky chuckle.

“Alright, let’s go on inside.”

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Void Forge: Optimization, Part 1

] | [ Hello friends!  This is the long time coming finale to our Void Forge Saga.  Yes it has been awhile.  Yes it has gone incomplete, but I am no longer lazy and want to finish it!  The list of muses are marked respectively as follows for each specific mun. . .

Lazarius Kash’ebahl - LK

Siida- Ray Kash’ebahl - SK

Pyravari Kash’ebahl - PK

Maliscia Dawnblood - MD

Zalra Azurestar - ZA

Vanderlaine Mindweaver - VM

Please enjoy the read of this first part.  Pass along, Share, Reblog, Smash the Like Button, Contact me via message! Whatever you feel floats your boat!  We’re currently writing in our sixth installment “In Depths Below” and would love new faces and characters!  Thank you all, and without further interuption. . .  ] | [

Three Weeks After Grim Batol . . .

[ L.K ]   And so it was that in the days to come. Lazarius would keep his promise to begin the preparations to transport several of the higher ranking officers to the deserts of Uldum to begin looking for the parts of the forge they were building, which were lost among the sands of a ancient desert.

Kross had been missing for quite some time, dealing with this and that. Attending to the broken and beaten Brox Sulfin who suffered a might hard beating at the hands of some of the Blackiron Clan. But, as was the duty of being the steward to the Inquisitor, it was also his responsibility to move messages back and forth. And seeing has how he was rather deft and light on his feet when it came to moving from place to place quickly, Lazarius would urge him to get several of their Tanaris outposts southward and through the large gates into Uldum.

On the third day, Lazarius had finished packing what they would need. Very little in regard to clothing, and supplies. No all of that would be attended to when they got to the base camp. He was grabbing texts and notes. Maps and things of that nature. Items that would aid them in the discovery of the reason they were there. Two matter decanters and two system recovery vessels.

These things that at one time would have been used to create Earthen, and ancient beings that inhabited the world. Now would be used to pump blood and flesh through the Forge in order to fuel it as it siphoned living matter of its void power.

Vanderlaine Mindweaver, Maliscia Dawnblood, Zalra Azurestar and his sister, Siida- Ray Kash’ebahl were all presented with letters the night after they had all met in Quel'thalas and discussed taking the once private trip between he and the Blood Magus, into a full on excursion of a large chuck of their main force.

Which honestly was not a bad thing. He rather enjoyed spending this much time with new faces and people who were eager to contribute.

As it stood, the request was simple. Pack only what you need, and prepare for a two or three week long engagement. They would be meeting in the chambers of the Inquisitor. And upon every last one of them doing so, they would bare witness to something that perhaps only half had, had the pleasure of seeing.

The mysterious gateway Lazarius kept. His double door closet was opened, and when activated, instead of seeing the inside of his wardrobe, they would see the inside of a Zeppelin already in flight it seemed as they were watching what seemed to be the lower deck, and it was facing a window. The movement outside indicated they were actually going to enter a moving zeppelin. And it was the case. When the five of them walked through the door, they would step into one of the Nines only remaining airships from the first culling.

It had been a relic of the past, but still in working order. And despite the fact that it would be pirated by a single crew that was dedicated to keeping it in working order for their trades and transports. It was a fairly fast vessel that at one time Asphodel, he and his former shade, Sydran, all hijacked.

As they looked back through the closet door of the zeppelin, they could see Lazarius' chamber. But after the door such, and perhaps one of them went to go open it again, it would be nothing more than storage. That was how quick the gateway vanished. They would remain in the lower deck. The captain greeting them, he was a goblin, go figure, but they did make excellent ship captains.

Lazarius would urge them to get comfortable. As it stood they were still currently flying over the Southern Barrens. Another eight hours at least. But as it was growing to be nightfall, they would have time for some banter, perhaps a bit of quiet conversation. And then off to bed. Where, the next day they would most certainly be in Tanaris. And by mid-day, docking in Ramkahen.

[ S.K ]   Siida was beside herself...most would have possibly shown a little trepidation at the idea of going through a portal onto a moving target. Logically the magic was sound, but there was always room for horrible error...like the ship moving beyond where the portal was, but this didn't stop the youngest Kash'ebahl sibling from jumping through the closet and onto the ship. Those pale leaf green eyes took in the sights while her other senses were flooded.

The wood of the ship was warmed from it's travels over the barrens, she could hear the sound of the machines powering the zepplin...and well...she imagined something about what she heard was a delightful argument in the Goblin tongue. The moment the captain was done speaking, it was like a a force had been unleashed from a long slumber as Siida began to explore the lower decks before pausing at a window, mystified by the view.

[ V.M ]   Vanderlaine would be locked away in his cabin, or a spare room away from the others, writing away... He was always writing, but he had no friends or family. Who was he writing to? The Headmaster had packed extremely light. No food, no drink, naturally--or unnaturally, only parchment, ink, quills, and a few extra robes, pants, and one pair of boots. Other small items were in his pack, but nothing worthy of note.

[ L.K ]   Lazarius on the other hand, would move to the very back deck of the Zeppelin. Fully railed and safe, he would be leaning over the safety handrail as the Zeppelin chugged along at its quick little pace. Well quick for a balloon filled with a gas.

He watched the world pass him below. His black eyes trained on the setting sun on the horizon. The Southern Barrens were hot this time of year. Summer months always increased the temperatures. Even as the sun set, and the clear sky opened to expose the moonlight soon after.

[ Z.A ]  It was a panic filled rush, but she managed to catch up with the others joining, though, in classic Zalra fashion, she was the last to arrive. Which elicited an embarrassed flush on her freckled cheeks. Once she stepped into Lazarius’ chambers, she watched him open his wardrobe to display a familiar gateway. She couldn’t help but smile with sudden excitement when she saw the zeppelin’s quarters through the portal.

Through the journey, Zalra remained silent. To pass the time she was mostly sitting with her nose buried in a tome the Inquisitor gave to her. She was most likely terrified to go on deck. This was the first time traveling this way as well as visiting Uldum.

[ L.K ]   His eyes remained poised on that sunset, but as the silence of the group became obvious he would look back into the lower deck of the zeppelin. That quiet little area with a table, and benches. Storage for food and drink and such. A place where they could relax and talk. It was like a little mobile cabin.

Lazarius noticed Zalra sitting and reading, and called to her. "Miss Azurestar. . . why don't you join me? The view is simply wonderful. . . you can nearly see the Crossroads from here."

He was very comfortable at the height and speed they were going, so much so that his back was now facing the open air, as he sat against the railing and gripped it with a single hand.

[ Z.A ]   She was so absorbed in the journal she read, that Zalra almost missed Lazarius call out to her. Everything around her was fuzzy as she focused; as if she was fading away and only paid attention to her studies. Nothing else existed.

“Hm?” she gasped, snapping out of her daze. “Er...y-yes of course, Lord Kash’ebahl.”

She murmured. She hurried up the stairs to the deck and froze when she noticed Lazarius. He was just…sitting atop the rail with confidence that did not stir well with her. Her stomach lurched, and she took a quick step forward, before hesitating before him. Was that worry she felt pounding in her chest?

Clearing her throat in embarrassment, she closed the distance still between them and stood to his side. Instead of pulling off the Inquisitor��s stunt, she just leaned against the rail and looked out to the passing lands. It was a beautiful sight, despite the barren landscape.

“You know...I’ve never been to Kalimdor let alone Uldum.” She admitted, taking in the view.

[ L.K ]   “Well I can only assume since you were never privileged during the first or second wars, and then of course Arthas tearing through Quel’thalas. I would guess you were always around Stormwind. But you’ve never been here?”. He smiled at the naivety of the comment and peered back over his shoulder.

[ Z.A ]   Zalra’s hands tightened against the wooden rail in response to Lazarius’ assumption. The reaction was automatic and she could not stop herself before he would have potentially noticed. Her lips pressed into a thin line while her gaze remained glued to the barren sights; though, it was clear, her mind was not entirely present.

“No,” she murmured for only the Inquisitor’s ears.

“I have only been living in Stormwind since Alleria’s intervention with Umbric and his people.” This information was missing chunks of her past and almost did not make sense without context. Did she elaborate further, though? Not exactly. The more she spoke the more holes demanded explanation.

“Before my corruption, I lived in the coastal mountains bordering northern Twilight Highlands.” She kept her words vague before turning to face Lazarius.

[ L.K ]    “This is mostly it...hot, desert, more hot and more desert. A lot of desert.”. He would slowly turn to accompany her as they glanced into the horizon. Her answer was enough to leave him without much further poking, so he changed the subject.

“Ive traveled most of the planet. It will be my first time here as well, I am excited.”  he responded shortly after.

[ Z.A ]   A small smile finally tugged on her lips. “Well, a new experience for the both of us then!”

[ S.K ]   While some enjoyed the views and others spent time in their rooms, Siida was more curious about the ship and its crew. This curiosity landed her at a table with other goblins, who were playing an odd game of dice. It was about deception and knowing your opponent...it goes without saying that Siida was not the best at the game, but she was making friends.

[ L.K ]   ”Join us down below Siida.”. Came a voice that entered into her mind softly.

It appeared that during the conversation he was having with Zalra, he was also speaking to his sister. “When you are free of course, do mingle and enjoy this, calm. You need only think back what you wish to speak, I will hear it.”

[ S.K ]   At the table, Siida would look around, expecting to see Lazarius standing there...bit then she remembered the wonderful talents that he and Asphodel shared when it came to communications.

“I will be there in a moment.”

Excusing herself from the game, Siida moved down to the place that Zalra and Lazarius were. Much like with her friend, Siida's heart leapt up into her throat seeing Lazarius sitting like that...but the view won her over instantly as she moved to the railing.

"Wow!"

[ Z.A ]   Suddenly, Siida was by her side. She flashed the young Kashe’bahl a polite smile and bowed her head softly.

“Enjoying yourself?” She giggled.  This was a rhetorical statement more than a question, she knew she was.

She eventually did fall silent once the conversations started rolling; focusing more on listening than speaking.

[ V.M ]   Vanderlaine's hand paused. He sighed softly and set his quill into its well and pushed the piece of parchment he was writing off to the side to dry. The Headmaster stood up and decided to join the others, wherever they were. He walked out of his corner to the lower deck where Lazarius and company were.

"Greetings everyone," he spoke quietly as he approached the other three from behind.

[ L.K ]   “Vanderlaine.”. Lazarius acknowledged as Siida rushed past toward the railing to look out.

“I suppose it is a bit of a culture shock to jump through a temporal gateway...but you all seem to adjust to it rather well.”. Lazarius was in fact referring to the thoughts Siida had about a moving target, remember he could hear them.

“The difference between arcane portals and tears in space time...moving or not moving, the gateway is routed to that door, it’s a tear in the fourth dimensional wall. Bridging gaps. So..activate and it’s there, deactivate and the bridge closes. Quite ingenious.”. He smiled and looked back over his shoulder at that still burning sun as it set.

“I am hopeful this will be a simple retrieval.”

[ S.K ]   “With such a team of minds gathered I can't imagine us failing." Siida spoke up after a moment, clearly absorbed by the beauty around her. She'd chosen to wear a dress fitting to the climate and the wind was playing with the light fabric, thankfully she'd had the sense to capture her hair back with a bit of ribbon.

"This ship is astounding...”

[ L.K ]   “I claimed this from one of the men following the leader of a rival faction a few years ago.”. Lazarius would be dressed in his typical attire, a robe, chains, armor plates etc. Though his hood was drawn back in the heat.

“Z’, and his cult The Gallows of...Well we just called them The Gallows. They were planning to ambush us with this, Asphodel, myself and a shade who once served with me named Sydran, we captured and took the vessel. Killed the commander, and ever since...it has sort of been the flagship of The Nines Air Force.”. He laughed, simply because this airship WAS their air force.

”It does come in handy for transporting goods though, immensely useful for moving heavy items across lines where it would be less easy to go by caravan or boat. And Captain Gearsman... though a pain in the ass, is a fine captain, I’ve never once been disappointed with his performance and prowess behind the helm.”

[ V.M ]   Vanderlaine stood behind the three, looking out past their heads at the sunset, "You have had so many adventures, haven't you Lazarius? I feel like you have lived a hundred lives before I met you. You must tell me about your misadventures sometime, Lord Inquisitor."

[ L.K ]   Lazarius did smile at the comment. He would lightly pad his fingers along the wood safety rail as he nodded to the man.

“You would be correct in saying. The order has a long an extensive lineage. We’ve done quite a bit. Perhaps once this forge is complete I may take you to the altar of the men and women who once stood against us . The survivors of The Gallows were hunted down, and from their bones Asphodel and I constructed an altar to use for rituals.”. He laughed again and nodded some more.

“Misadventures or plenty.”

Lazarius silenced himself as the group continued their trip, his arms slowly raised upward and crossed against his chest as he peered from face to face.

“As far as I know this will be the first time for any of us to venture into this realm. Vanderlaine here is a scholar of Tol’virian history, it may be our best lead. Though the reason we are coming here is for Titan tech. I’ve a very good lead on some of those Schnottz force fools have what we need.”

[ Z.A ]   Her attention quickly shifted to Vanderlaine, “Is that so? I’m curious to learn more about this Tol’virian...er…history.” she continued to grin brightly.

“Do you have any notes you wouldn’t mind someone reading?” she asked. Ever the curious and studious one.

[ V.M ]   “I have been to Uldum several times since it was first made open to the outside world. I have traversed every inch of that sandy oasis. If these parts are there, I will find them--we will find them, and on the topic of notes. . .perhaps once we return to our home I will allow you to peek." the Felblooded professor leaned against a wall, still behind the party,

"I call it an oasis, but Uldum is a cruel and unforgiving place. Sandstorms are as common as light breezes. I hope you all have the proper attire: face covers, full body robes, goggles, would be useful. Sand burn is not pleasant.”

[ Z.A ]   She nodded and passed her glance toward Lazarius once more, she tilted her head softly. “Parts for…what?”

[ L.K ]   “For our forge.”. He said clearly. His eyes a flame with dark violet energy.

“Reverse engineer tech from the titans. They once used them to create life. Earthen mostly. We are going to use it in a reverse mentality...it will sap life, very specific life. Fueled by the Azerite we are currently preparing to harvest using Gallywix’s own men and our brilliant illusionist. We shall have an endless supply of power and energy to fuel it. But we are lacking vital parts...”. He would smile widely at the though.

“Think of this like a large scale rummage sale...and we’re looking for the pieces to complete our collection.”

[ Z.A ]   Zalra blinked, “Oh. Right. Sap life…” she murmured. She cleared her throat, shaking off her rising thoughts of worry. Deep down, she wasn’t truly surprised of such a project transpiring.

[ S.K ]   “And you'll know the pieces when you see them Professor Mindweaver, brother?" Siida had been listening even if she was taken with the view.

"Or will this be a wild goose hunt and we hope we bring back the right pieces?”

[ L.K ]   “Ive made sure that once we arrive and camp is established, the local merchants are willing to trade with us. Despite the fact that they are neutral to the world, most of them do have a liking for the things of the modern world. So we have a fairly good connection there to stock up on supplies.”. Lazarius would hold his hand outward, and they would see a void construct form in his palm, about the size of a cantaloupe, there were the parts, slowly rotating, allowing them to see them.

“I do not do anything simply on a hunch. I know what they look like and the tomb is right for where they would have had a facility. According to old maps and the spies i have, they currently are excavating the entrance.”. Lazarius would hold up his other hand, and there would be an image of some Titan writing on the doors of Ulduar. Beside it, the image of the doors where they are going. Identical.

[ Z.A ]   Zalra stepped closer, poising to lean in with absolute astonishment at the images that danced upon Lazarius’ palms. It took everything in her power to not “Ooo” at the display. But! She was a reserved adult and would be much too embarrassed to let the other side of her to show publicly. So, she remained silent; biting the bottom of her lip softly. And that quiet remained as she still had yet to utter a word. Usually preferring to listen, instead. Her ears, however, flicked absentmindedly and pulled her attention to the Inquisitor.

[ L.K ]   “Clear the camp, and we will move in and take control and maintain it.”

[ S.K ]   “How hard will it be the clear the camp?" Siida's tone was gentle, soft. It held the same air it often did when there was possible violence on the horizon. Matters of course have since changed, she had family to protect, budding friendships.

[ L.K ] “That depends on how hard they make our job, doesn’t it.  If they choose to come out fighting, well. . . then we shall retaliate with a forceful response right back.”  Lazarius remarked to his sister at her question.

[ V.M ]   “So there will be fighting involved on this trip?" Vanderlaine sighed and shook his head, "if we must.”

[ L.K ]   “If you would prefer to not get your hands dirty, Headmaster, I will gladly do as I must to ensure that the excavation site is clear for you to examine... certainly a bit of death does not prohibit someone such as yourself from moving forward?”. He said with a grin.

[ V.M ]   Vanderlaine glanced at Lazarius with an amused look on his face, "I will destroy as many poor souls as you ask me, Inquisitor. I am not fond of killing, but I am quite good at it."

[ L.K ]   "We've spoken at length about your. . . fond nature toward the subject, in case you don't recall. If you would prefer to be strictly a scholastic observer here and do the heavy lifting when it comes to research. . .I am quite fine with that." He would bow his head. "No disrespect, but I am rather fond of extracting life. All in the name of chaos."

[ V.M ]   “As I said, I will kill if you ask me. I have no moral issues with the idea," he would smirk briefly and shake his hand at the Inquisitor, "if my stomach begins to churn thinking about all that carnage we will surely create, I will be the first to let you know, my dear Lord Inquisitor.”

[ L.K ]   "Consider those that we are eliminating. . . a favor to the world, the Schnottz . .whatever they call themselves. . . are most vile and horrid, it is a great service to be ridding the world of their acts. They tend to destroy more of the worlds artifacts than save."

[ V.M ]   “Well then it is settled," he pushed himself off of the wall and clapped his hands together.

"If they are destroying relics of the past, then not only will I wipe them off of this swirling world of ours because of loyalty, but now... I have a personal interest in their demise, as any creature that will willing do such a horrible and heinous act deserves no mercy," he settled back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"So you need not feel any guilt about turning me into a machine of bloodshed. I know it weighs so heavy on you.”

[ Z.A ]   She straightened her posture, and her expression remained neutral despite the nature of the plan. Her violet eyes flickered to Vanderlaine as a thought flitted suddenly across her mind. This man sure did babble a lot when it came to battle. Desperate to simmer his conscious maybe? Eventually, Zalra looked around to each of those who were gathered and noticed, still, she had yet to speak.

“Er…” she began, trying to fit in. “I’m quite…er…lost on most of the matter but…”

Oh, this was going so smoothly. “I’m here to help with whatever is needed, as well. Of course.”

[ V.M ]   The Headmaster's darkened eyes soon fell upon Zalra, as if pulled to her presence. He always knew when someone was thinking about him... he cocked his head to one side and studied the woman carefully--silently, before inevitably speaking to her directly. "I do not believe we have ever met Surely, in such a place like Uldum, I would like to know my traveling companions personally. I am Vanderlaine Mindweaver, our little circle's Headmaster."

[ Z.A ]   The Sin’dorei disguised woman kept an even gaze with the man before her. Or, at least tried. It would be a bit hard if he were taller than her astounding five foot, five inches. Regardless, she did not flinch away. Uncharacteristic of her, but her stiff reaction was due to that knowing stare Vanderlaine had toward her.

“Oh! Yes. I’m Zalra Azurestar. I am fresh to the Nine.” Her voice was still quiet when she spoke. Her tone gentle yet, clearly socially awkward.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Headmaster Mindweaver.” Her eyes finally broke from the other’s gaze as she bowed politely for a moment.

“Forgive my i-ignorance on this journey. This is not a subject or location I am familiar with. So, I apologize in advance if I…m-mess up?”

[ M.D ]   Maliscia had spent the trip so far within a room, avoiding the others and focusing on her books and notes. Finally, thirst brought her from her room to seek out a bottle of wine.

During her search she stumbled upon the others lost in their conversation. Her amethyst gaze scans the group, Lazarius, Vanderlaine, Siida, and .... someone she had never met. She watched the little interaction between the Headmaster and the timid elven woman and stepped up behind her.

[ S.K ]   "There is no need to apologizing when you've stepped up to help everyone without knowing the full scope of the mission...it's a little fool hardy, but what ever came from playing it safe all the time." Siida would pat Zalra lightly on the shoulder, watching Maliscia approach from behind and simply offered the woman a smile.

[ M.D ]     "Do we have ourselves a stowaway?" She queried with a low tone.

[ L.K ]   “Maliscia. How good of you to join us I believe this is the perfect opportunity for me to introduce Zalra, another of our eager initiates, and the one you made that disguise for.”. Lazarius inclined his head and peered down over a turned up nose, his black eyes swirling with the galactic energy within himself.

[ Z.A ]   Stepped up. That wasn’t the most accurate description of her involvement, but Zalra did not find a need to correct the younger woman. Regardless of how she got here, she was ready to do what she needed to assist. Though, that embarrassed flush was permanently on her cheeks at the harmless “foolhardy” comment.

A small gasp escaped the woman as she spun to face the source of the new voice. A gorgeous elf stood before her, and Zalra found herself floundering for words to respond to the stranger. Thankfully, Lazarius spoke for her. Bless. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” She inclined her head towards Maliscia in a polite gesture.  But was more or less silent as Lazarius was still speaking.

“And now, what better a perfect opportunity to debrief all of you on why and what we’re going after and can expect than now, yes?”

[ M.D ]     "Charmed. . ." She hissed with a low tone.

[ L.K ]   Calmly he pushed himself up from the railing. His hands would tuck against his body as he crossed his arms over his chest and peered toward the group of them. When there was a moment to speak, he would take it.

"Without these parts, we'll never be able to get the engines running. As brilliant as we are. Even with the aid out outside sources, we're going to need Titan tech to reverse engineer a way to get these things running. Thats why I brought in Whistletorque to work on the Azerite samples. If Verzatea and he can somehow break the key to using it. . .we'll need to have a way to convert it into energy."

Lazarius slowly made his way back into the main deck of the lower floor. Whether they followed or not, he was going for the large heavy bottle plugged with a cork that was sitting on the mess hall dining table. A bottle of aged port. He'd pour himself a glass and take a sip. "Could go smooth, could be a mess. . . I just want you all to be prepared for the worst."

[ M.D ]   Maliscia stepped a bit away from the group finding something to lean on as she turned her focus to Lazarius as he began his little speech.

[ L.K ]    So much happening, so little time to get things in order.

“Ive decided to also move our order. The last of our things are being processed as we speak. By the time we finish here, we shall be in Northrend.”  Lazarius slammed down another large mouthful of the thick red liquid and sighed.

“With all that is happening right now...”. His eyes fell on Vanderlaine, then Maliscia, his sister, and finally Zalra.

“Im looking toward you all to do all that you can and some. This order needs leadership, and you’ve all demonstrated that in one way or another. I can’t do this without any of you.” His tone was rather somber, also saddened, yet thankful.

[ Z.A ]   As Lazarius drank and spoke of their plans, Zalra found her former seat on the floor where the tome she was reading lay. Getting comfortable, she did not comment on the man’s words. Most of what he informed the others of, had been shared with her already.

Though, his leadership compliment threw her for a loop. She wasn’t expecting that. In fact, she was looking toward him with shock and doubt those words were meant for her. Helping? Sure. She was ready to contribute to the best of her abilities! Leading something? Absolutely not. But, why be the downer here? She gave him a bright smile, instead. Just smile and nod.

[ S.K ]   Siida was pleased to see Lazarius relaxing and as he spoke of what they needed...she would listen, taking notes. 

[ L.K ]   “I suggest we all. . .take this time to reflect, rest and prepare. . .”

As the later hours started to get closer....

[ L.K ]   . . .the goblins would begin to light small torches and candles throughout the zeppelin. They were currently over The Thousand Needles , or what was left of it, taking a less obscure route and going directly over the ridges and heading straight for Uldum. Not long now. But as the large full moon cascaded down into the galley and the cool winds flowed through the zeppelin, most of the staff had retired. Lazarius was not.

He sat at the table, a single candle and glass of bad wine beside him. He was writing in his large book, going over notes and maps beside him. Clearly he was not planning on sleeping like some of the rest of them. Much like Vanderlaine, Lazarius had no reason to sleep, the void entity inside his blood often aided him in the ability to sleep very rarely. So, he would use this time to complete his plans. Drinking his wine and enjoying the cool air.

[ Z.A ]   The later hours came quicker than Zalra expected. In fact, she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings in the slightest after Lazarius’ briefing. She felt a little guilty for this as she knew the downtime in their travels would be perfect to get to know those who she traveled with better. But, she found more solace with her own company and was unsure if she would be scolded for being so reclusive. She sat upon the floor of the main room beneath the deck.

As Lazarius sipped upon his terrible drink, she continued to read. They were only across the room from each other; however Zalra was unaware that no one had joined his side at this current time. A lot of people liked sleeping at reasonable hours, she thought to herself. As the goblins who were part of the crew began illuminating the zeppelin, Zalra would notice the book's words began to blur as her eyes started to drift closed on their own accord.

Before she knew it, she was adjusting her posture to accommodate for her creeping exhaustion. Did she move to a bed? No. Of course not. Being too tired, for one, and two, she was quite comfortable despite the bare, wooden floor beneath her.

The Sin’dorei now lay on her side, resting her head upon her rucksack and continued to review her tome which she propped up in front of her. Though, it didn’t take long before she just drifted to sleep under a pool of lantern light.

[ M.D ]   Maliscia had long since disappeared after Lazarius' speech, returning to her own reclusive nature in one of the rooms, occupying herself with the few tomes notes and maps she had thought to bring with her. Into the wee hours of the morning she wouldn't make a sound, save for the occasional turn of a page, and her scribbling ... when finally she let out an exasperated sigh, realizing it might do her some good to take a break, perhaps get some fresh air.

She made her way out of the room and into the area where Lazarius worked at the table and Zalra seemed to have fallen asleep. She let out a small chuckle at the sleeping girl and looked over at Lazarius, there was still a bit of awkwardness there, but she pushed it aside and made her presence known.

“That poor girl is going to have such a stiff neck when she wakes up.”

[ L.K ]   He looked up, peering down the hall to see Mali, then back toward where Zalra was sleeping. He shrugged softly, his black eyes narrowed to adjust to the poor lighting. As she grew closer and became easier to speak to without having to raise his voice any louder than a whisper.

“She is hardy, and no stranger to ‘roughing’ it.”. He spoke. His hand would close his tome, and deft fingers worked to conceal his parchment papers and maps.

“You are up late...still not sleeping well these days?”. He would ask softly, patting the seat next to him.

[ M.D ]   “I sleep alright when we're at the estate, thanks to you.” She stepped over and sat down next to him, still looking towards the sleeping girl.  Maliscia had been helped to silence the whispers when Lazarius entered her mind.  They spent several days prior to this cleaning up the damage the void had done.  She was very thankful to finally be able to close her eyes without visions and voices invading her thoughts.

“I doubt I will sleep much until we return....” She paused. “When we return .... it will be to Northrend, will I still have the same protection there?” She was, of course, referring to the wards he had placed that protected her from the void whispers back at the estate.

"Speaking of that.... what about her?" She nods towards Zalra, she too was Ren'dorei, but Maliscia had not really connected with any others of her own kind... perhaps she would have to find time to invite the girl to tea.

[ L.K ]   “You will be far more protected deep beneath the earth. It is impossible to even get to the Bastille now without the talismans.”. He would peer over at Maliscia and as he did so, she would find a cold hand cover the back of her own. He was happy to see her, and as his smile faded he would answer her question. 

“I met Zalra not too long ago, perhaps about three weeks, maybe four. She was not as eager to remain where she was unwanted, and having sought a way to silence the void, and harness its power...she asked to be taught, and I happily opted to do so. She is a sweet girl, and I feel will aid us in time, perhaps even gravitate toward someone more ... like her.” she would feel a light grip squeeze her hand as his smiled widened into a grin.

[ M.D ]   She turned her gaze from Zalra to look at the Inquisitor and return the smile. “I am glad it won't be much of a change for me since my room will be the same. Ah the comforts of home...”

She mused softly. “I'll have to get to know her ... though I really think perhaps we should see about getting her to an actual bed... she won't be of much use if it hurts to turn her neck from sleeping on the ground like that.”

[ L.K ]   Lazarius narrowed his vision. Eyes, black and never showing any type of emotion when he was busy with work; would slowly scan over the small girl. "She chose that spot. . ." He said in a flat voice. "I think she prefers to be close to the action anyway...in case something happens." He would sigh and slowly pull over a map that he was looking at.

"This is the stolen map we have, taken from one of their men. . . I lost two shades going after this. Two very good shades. . . and I won't allow their lives to be lost and not turn a profitable outcome when we finish this. . . but I worry about this path here." Lazarius would move his finger to an open room.

"This shaft leads to an open room where there are quite a few protocols in place to ward off outsiders. . . I just hope we can sort through it."

[ S.K ]   The gentle sway of the ship was comforting, but a sudden pitch in one direction had Siida sitting up in bed, bolt up right and gasping. In her mind she'd thought perhaps the ship was falling from the sky, but it had just been a bit of the cross breeze. She imagined as they neared the open barrens, the winds would become more intense. Slipping from the bed she poked her head out the window to spy who was still awake.

She could see Lazarius, Maliscia...and it seemed Zalra was comfortable upon the floor. Smoothing her hair, Siida moved from her room to go and get some air, to calm her frazzled nerves.

[ L.K ]   ~*~ BOOM ~*~

A sound in the distance, something that sounded like cannon fire? Maybe even something from the ground.  Lazarius’ ears perked up as he listened. There was a silence once again, nothing but the shaking of the zeppelin as it swayed back and forth from the heavy winds.

~*~ BOOM ~*~

Another, this time Lazarius rose from his seat, spying Siida and motioning for her to wake Zalra.

“That does not sound promising.”

Lazarius bent himself around he table and quickly marched up the stairs that were leading to the mid and upper decks. 

“Hey boss! You might wanna get up here!”. Came the sound of a goblin calling down to them.

“Wake her...upstairs...hurry.” Lazarius quickly continued to climb the stairwell on his way up to the top, and when he did, a sight truly to behold was upon them.

[ S.K ]   Siida's ears drooped at the sound of the cannon fire and moved to Zalra's side, kneeling down and gingerly shaking the elf.

"Zalra, come on...we're nearly there, Lazarius wants us up." She worried for a moment that they were under attack, but the booms didn't seem to be getting closer, all though a bit more frequent.

Since her brother wasn't raising the alarm she didn't resort to desperate means to wake up Zalra.

[ Z.A ]   When she heard the second boom she stirred.  When she heard the voice of the woman speak to her, she spun to face the stairwell, Zalra was not expecting to come face-to-face with Siida. Lazarius wants us up.

A wordless nod was tossed the younger Kashe’bahl’s way before Zalra jogged after her and rushed onto the deck.

[ L.K ]    The massive sword of Sargaras looked several thousand feet in the air, the world around them was dark and ominous but the glowing sword lit the night sky like a fire burning in the distance. They were over Ungoro, not even close to cresting the hillside into Silithus, and that sword was menacing.

“How much further...and where is that cannon fire coming from?” Asked the Inquisitor as he peered around the horizon. 

“Dats no cannon fire boss...dat’s dah sound of goblins blowin’ up chucks aroun’ dat sword.”. said the captain as he brought them out of the crater and onto the border of Tanaris, they were bound for Uldum.

“Gods below that sword is massive...you can feel the energy still within it...”. Lazarius placed his hands on the deck railing and gazed up at the object as they flew past, wind brushing his chestnut hair back.

[ V.M ]   Vanderlaine made his way up to the top deck. Walking over to Lazarius' side, his eyes were fixed on the sword, which was... admittedly, much larger than he had thought,

"My, that is... much larger than I had thought. You say that is in Silithus?" he shook his head and paced on the deck, never looking away,

"We must get closer to it someday, to just look up at it from its base... oh, how insignificant we will look compared to it."

[ L.K ]   Lazarius was marveling at it in much the same manner as Vanderlaine; my how alike the two were.. His blackened eyes never truly venturing beyond the sight of that enormous sword protruding from the ground.

“Someday after the initial shock has worn down...I too would like to venture closer, but for now...I will have faith that Loki and our goblin counterparts are farming plenty of Azerite for us to return safely to the Bastille for study.”.

Lazarius hitched a breath in his throat, slender fingers lightly tracing along the rail as he was force to crane himself forward to keep and eye on the sword as the zeppelin turned heading toward the edges of Tanaris.

“Truly a sight to behold...” he muttered.

[ Z.A ]    “Sargeras.” She breathed to herself, unable to take her eyes off the sword leagues away.

“So much irreparable damage.” She whispered, still hopefully for her own ears.

Her guard dropped further when she noticed the scene was quiet. Stepping closer to the others, Zalra started to lower her weapon; still gripping it with both hands.

[ L.K ]   "Marvel in it. . . and study it" He scoffed as his black eyes finally tore away from the sword. "Pure power, madness. . .an ancient dark magic that has wounded this world to the point of unstoppable chaos."

Lazarius had stepped away from the railing and motioned toward the small goblin captain to keep on coarse. "What Sargaras has done here has changed the face of this planet. . .it is as Neltharion did before, and as many others before him. . . and something our master. . . N'Zoth know all too well." He smiled and felt a strange sense of warmth cover him in the glow of the Blue Child and the dark heat from the Sword of Sargaras.

"Perhaps someday soon we too can leave our mark as the titan has. . ." Lazarius slowly peered back at the group of onlookers.

"Or maybe something greater. . .we can only hope."

[ S.K ]   The massive sword was something that stole Siida's attention, the rest of the world falling away. She was boggled. Absolutely and utterly confused. How was that possible...how had that sword not snuffed the very soul and life out of Azeroth? It took a good few minutes for the woman to pull herself away from the window and return to her room. She didn't sleep, she couldn't. There was too much excitement for the adventure ahead.

Siida was restless, unable to sit still a moment longer and went back up to the ships main deck, looking up at the night sky with a smile. The stars were lovely here, you could see them so clearly.

With the rest of the crew going back to work at the order of her brother, and the remaining officers who were summoned to the deck still watching.  The silence of the group would remain as the airship traveled deeper and deeper into the darkness.

ULDUM. . .

[ L.K ]   The time had come, some hours later, when the quintet had finally docked the airship in the deserts of Uldum. The sand was everywhere. And it was dry, arid, and nearly void of any life save for the forms of it that could eek out a mild existence in this climate. Mostly though, it was sand. Wind and Sand. Sun and more sand. Possibly a tree here or there, but ultimately surrounded by sand.

The massive zeppelin docked against a large erected platform that was surrounded on all sides by a camp. Flags of the crested serpent, violet in color flew high along the borders of the simple wooden outposts. They were surrounded by several dozen of Pyravari's best. As well as simple laborers, excavators, look outs and magic users.

In the center of the makeshift camp was a large outpost tent. It was where Lazarius had instructed his war table be assembled. Where each on of the five of them would have their own little cropping to comfortably live for the two to three weeks they were there. As they docked, and the five of them stepped off onto the erected launch pad and tower used for getting down to the ground level. Lazarius marched off the zeppelin and felt that dry heat sap any moisture that remained from his flesh and hair. His black eyes needing to be sheltered due to the sun; hands covering them the best they could.

"Welcome to Uldum, my brothers and sisters."

[ S.K ]   The heat was something that Siida hadn't been ready for, but her loose and flowing dress played about in the winds that whipped through the sands.

She was grateful for having listened to the advice of a friend and not brought sandals, she could feel the sand beneath her feet was indeed like an oven, waiting to scorch whatever it touched.

"It's amazing!"

[ L.K ]   “I don't ever recall ‘amazing’ being on the list of choice words . . . ”

[ Z.A ]   Zalra could feel the heat instantly. The steady increase in warmth was what stirred her from her continued sleep in the first place. She was comfortably snoozing on the floor, back to the rucksack and “hardy” behaviour, before she was slowly woken from her sleep.

Sweat already beaded on her forehead and she felt like she was being broiled in an oven. Great. Thankfully, however, the woman was quite fond of heat. And of course, sand. But void of any beaches? Now that was going to make the trip a little unappealing. She stepped off the zeppelin along with the others and inhaled the blistering air deeply.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Probably not after considerably long exposures to the sun, but for now, Zalra was enjoying every bit of this Adjusting her sunhat she had dawned before joining the group, she too squinted against the blazing light. She snickered audibly at Lazarius’ comment, “Not a fan of the location already, Inquisitor?”

[ L.K ]   “I am not often a fan of any locations that do not involve being underground or hidden from daylight.”. Snarled the man as he started down the stairwell toward the lower levels. As he did so he would speak to the others behind him, hoping they too chose to join him in finding the shade below.

“I will be much happier when we leave this place with our hands full of Titan artifacts and can return to the safety of the Bastille.”. At this point they were safely on the ground. Captain Gearsman already bartering with a few of the locals that had made their way into the camp, half expecting the airship to be loaded with trade goods, which as a matter of fact it was, so business could continue. It was a a good thing Lazarius did employ competent people and advisors to lead these expeditions and areas of business.

“If you two would like to go visit the Tolvarian kingdom, this is Ramkahen, by name on such it translates into something majestic, but be forewarned, do not do anything to upset the locals.”. He would in fact be speaking to Siida and Zalra, they seemed to be the most curious about the culture and landscape.

Where as Vanderlaine wouldn’t get his hands dirty until they found something interesting, much like Lazarius in that regard, to give them something to get excited for. 

“I will be in the large tent where I can draft up our plans. I have two Shades coming to brief me on the current situation, Mali, Van you are both welcome to go sight see if you wish, or join me in the shelter, your choice.”. He would shield his dark eyes with his cupped hand, and peered back to the group of them.

[ S.K ]   Like Zalra, Siida produced a hat to the help with the glaring of the sun. She was eager, like a child ready to run into a candy store, but she heeded her brothers warning. While they were here, they were guests, they would be on their best behavior and not upset the locals.

Siida could see all types of banners flying in the distance, it seemed the mysterious ore of Silithus was drawing more attention than she realized. The very second that Lazarius stepped from the ship, Siida bolted down the ramp to go and explore. She had a book on the local customs, fruit to sample...wares to see...and the oasis.

[ M.D ]   “I think I shall go for a little walk around, call for me if you need me.” She stated and without another word would head off and away from the group, choosing to spend her time exploring the immediate area alone.

[ Z.A ]    Thankfully, when his words were of encouragement or the two youngest elves to explore, her demeanor relaxed. He said the magic words it seemed, as Zalra’s eyes lit up. Oh, where would she begin?! She had an entire city to experience!

Perhaps Siida had an idea as to where to start; if she would accept Zalra’s company, that is. Her emerald gaze drifted to regard the younger Kashe’bahl, only to notice the group already beginning to disperse. A little hum of contemplation left her lips as she looked back to Lazarius for a moment. Should she join him instead? They did have a couple of weeks in the warm country, after all. Maybe explore later? Another hum sounded

“I will make sure Siida has company, then.” She finally decided aloud, walking to catch up with the young woman. Falling in step with her, Zalra smiled gently.

“Have an idea of our first stop?”

[ S.K ]   Siida was overjoyed to have Zalra at her side and began to talk excitedly about wanting to see some of the locals, learn what they ate and how they cooked....to try some of the indigenous fruits of the area. There was the oasis as well, a lovely place to see some unique fish and fauna. She was talking at a mile a minute, truly a ray of sunshine that had taken elven form.

"Oh...I'm sorry....I've done nothing but gab this whole time...Miss Azurestar...what would you like to do?"

[ V.M ]   Vanderlaine was the last to step off of the zeppelin. He was dressed in vastly different robes, these of a very distinct Uldum fashion. They were of a dark purple  and covered his head to toe so that not even his fingers or his ankles were exposed to the sun. He had a hood up, and a face mask hung loosely around his neck, which could be easily pulled up to protect his face from the harsh sand that blasted across the wasteland.

He took in a deep breath, "Ah, Uldum," he walked forward, adjusting his backpack that was slung across his body, filled with maps, a canteen, for some reason, and other survival odds and ends. Even though they were near a city and their camp, the professor was prepared.

[ Z.A ]   Zalra did not mind Siida’s insistent ramblings. She was cute, and the disguised woman was most patient; Siida would notice this, too. The calm expressions on her face and genuine giggles at the youngsters energy was proof enough. Though, she would also see Zalra’s wary gaze and how she occasionally would take her attention from Siida to review their surroundings.

A protective gesture, for sure. And, of course, this was at the same time Siida called for her attention.

“Hm?” she hummed, looking to the other woman.

“Oh! Out of all your suggestions, I would like to explore foods.” A cute bought of laughter escaped her, “My sweet tooth demands sugary goods.”

[ S.K ]   "Sugary goods...I believe we can find that....if what I read was correct they are a sun worshiping people we might find something along those lines...though it might not be what we're used to." Siida let her lips paint a smile upon her face as she started to wander into the city proper and into what looked like a day market.

The blessing here was the shade offered by some of the stalls and sure enough there was delicious looking fruit, breads, some fish the likes of which Siida had never seen before. Her eyes were bright as she immediately tried to converse with a vendor who seemed more bewildered by the small elf and her quick words.

[ Z.A ]   Zalra’s watchful gaze continued as the duo made their way deeper into the city. Her vigilant demeanor was simple to maintain even with so many alluring sights to behold. Thankfully, Siida had enough energy to burn for the both of them.

“Anything that’s sweet, I am open to trying.” She chuckled, “And, I am glad that one of us has at least a bit of knowledge of what we can find here.” She couldn’t have imagined how fruitless her attempts at exploring would be.

While Siida spoke with a merchant, Zalra looked t the fruit being sold. There was a stand of odd, green melons with a spiny texture labelled “Desert Melons” as well as a box of pear-shaped citrus called “Desert Limes” that caught her attention. The disguised woman tugged gently on Siida’s sleeve to motion her attention to the fruit. “Aren’t these strange?” she gasped. “We should try them!”

[ S.K ]   The merchant seemed all too happy to prepare samples of whatever the elves wanted. When Zalra pointed out the melons and limes, she couldn't resist the curious bug that crawled into her mind. It needed to be sated.

"Could have two of each please?" She asked, able to communicate well enough with the vendor who motioned them to have a seat under a shaded canopy by the oasis.

The water looked so inviting, but Siida resisted and plopped down upon a pillow. Soon the fruit was laid out before them both, beautifully prepared and sliced for them to share. "Our first taste of the local culture." Siida mused, trying a bit of lime. The face she made had the merchant chuckling. It was good, the sweetness coming at the end to rescue the eater from the sour bite.

[ Z.A ]   Zalra followed Siida’s lead and slowly sat upon the pillow provided. Her posture relaxed significantly as their seating accommodations mimicked those of her old home. But, her situation was due to financial hardship. And though it was familiar, this was a cultural difference; it didn’t make her feel embarrassed this time around, and she was happy this was the norm. Even the fruit was prepared and delivered to them.

Zalra was entirely unused to the level of hospitality that the locals provided them. It even caused her to hesitate in picking the beautifully sliced food. But, eventually, she went for a slice of melon. The flesh within was pale orange and softer than any fruit she had tried before.

At first, it was as sweet as a cantaloupe, though soon a vegetal bitterness followed; taste and texture similar to an avocado. “Hm…” she hummed, wondering if she truly enjoyed the flavour.

“It’s…er…alright. Definitely new.” A small chuckle left her lips afterwards before she glanced at the other elf. Zalra opened her mouth to speak, but nothing followed. She merely wanted to start a pleasant conversation with the woman, but—as per usual—she was at a loss for words.

“Er…so…do you enjoy the heat, too?”  Nailed it.

TBC. . . .   “The Void Forge: Optimization, Part 2″

@siidaraykashebahl

@lady-dawnblood

@zalraazurestar

@vanderlainemindweaver

mentions also

@pyravari-kashebahl

@whatadarkbitch

@daltalah

@suncrest-legacy

@thebladeitself

[weakzen]

Inexorable

The Watcher attempts to mitigate the effects of Vatnir's chime with a cipher spell. Rymrgand has opinions on her efforts.

Pairing: Aloth x Watcher Rating: T Spoilers: Beast of Winter DLC & Pallegina's Deadfire quest

AO3 version

She began to strip before the door latched shut behind her.

First, her jerkin and boots dropped to the floor. Then her tunic. Her trousers. Her socks and her smallclothes. All of them fell in a trail behind her as she shambled forward, until she stood nude before the bed.

He snapped his book shut as she approached, inhaling and leaning back as she climbed atop him, but even he didn't stop her momentum. She continued over him, rolling ungracefully to the side, and toppled facedown into the mattress.

A satisfied, muffled sigh escaped her lips as she lay there and finally closed her eyes.

The bed was comfortable, as was the cool air drifting in through the window. And the linen sheets were deliciously soft against her skin. Her body felt so… heavy, amidst it all. Every part of her. Like she could sink through the mattress, pierce the sheets, and fall into something wonderful, maybe—if it weren't for the headache pinning her in place.

Somewhere in the past half-decade, she'd actually acclimated to the dull and chronic malaise that came with focus deprivation, but she'd never experienced it this acutely. The throbbing ache, the fatigue, the vague dizziness and nausea, all of it felt more like the crash that followed ascension, except her crashes never lasted longer than a few moments.

Or, at least, they hadn't before.

She heard the book gently thump onto the side table, then felt Aloth shift next to her. His hand settled onto her back and rubbed circles in the curve of her lower spine.

“Busy evening again?”

“Not really,” she muttered into the sheets. After a moment, she summoned the strength to flop herself over and stretch out her limbs, yawning deeply as her joints cracked. She exhaled, then collapsed into a heap. “I'm just… tired.”

“So I've noticed.”

A weak grin pulled at her lips as she glanced at him.

“Oh yeah? What else have you been noticing?”

“Only the obvious,” he said flatly, giving her a ticklish pinch that made her squirm. The corners of his mouth curled upwards briefly before pressing into a frown. “This isn't the first time this week I've seen you like this. I'm becoming a bit concerned.”

“And here I always thought you liked it when I slept naked.”

“I was speaking of your exhaustion,” he said, rolling his eyes. He gave her a pointed look, though color still bloomed across his cheeks. “You've seemed… off, lately, ever since we set sail from the iceberg. When you're not above deck staring at the ocean for hours, you're collapsing into bed, too tired to talk or keep up with your meditations.”

“Amongst other things,” she added, her grin widening.

“Well, yes, but—” His flush deepened. “That's not really what I'm worried about.”

Seraphina chuckled and rolled on her side to face him. “Then what are you worried about? Besides my obvious exhaustion.”

He glanced away.

“Nothing really, just…” he began, then trailed off. A sigh of resignation sounded in his throat and he looked back to her. “Well, I've noticed you holding Vatnir's hands a lot lately, too.”

She raised her eyebrows, then her torso began to quiver with silent laughter.

“What, are you jealous, Aloth?”

“I'm not sure.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Should I be?”

“I don't know. You tell me.” She smiled herself then, biting her lip as she slid her hand to his jaw and caressed his cheek with her thumb. “Who, exactly, am I in bed with again—even if I am too tired to show my appreciation and give him a proper tumble?”

He rolled his eyes again, this time in fondness, amusement pulling at his mouth and softening his features. Then, he cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers, rolling her onto her back as he leaned over her. Her arms curled around him and her hand twined in his hair. She pulled him closer and, for a long moment, they kissed each other softly, until he broke away to nuzzle his face against her own.

“…Is everything okay, at least?” he asked quietly.

“As okay as it ever is,” she whispered back, tugging at the sheet between them. “Would be better, though, if I were under there with you.”

He smiled against her, then pulled back, enough so that she could slip under the sheets and cuddle into him. To her delight and amusement, he wasn't wearing anything either.

“Feeling a little warm tonight or something?” she teased, offering him a mischievous grin as she ran her hands over him.

“Only when you're around.”

He gave her a sly, knowing smile and she chuckled, then settled her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes fell shut and she sighed contentedly as they lay together.

“…Nothing's wrong, Aloth,” she said softly, after a few moments. “I've just been… trying something new. A cipher experiment, I guess.”

“Oh?” His breath tickled against her forehead.

“Yeah. Ever since we left the Void, I've been wondering if there was anything I could do about Vatnir's chime. Not removing it or severing it, I mean, but I thought it might be possible to mitigate its effects and give him some relief, at least.”

He inclined his head. “How so?”

“An extensive, modified pain block, essentially. I've been testing different variations on him almost every evening.” She pursed her lips, her mind briefly wandering to the variables she hadn't yet implemented. “…I'm still tweaking it right now, though. But, I figure once I get it just right, it'll be easy to apply when I'm ascended and it should last for quite a while from there, a few days if I can manage it. Long enough, anyway, that I shouldn't need to pull from my own reserves anymore to apply it.”

“Given the frequency of which we seem to find ourselves imperiled, I suspect that won't be an issue,” he said dryly. “Has it been effective, in any case?”

“I think so?” She shrugged. “His essence hasn't changed, unsurprisingly, but he says he can actually sleep through the night now, and that it hurts less when he coughs and moves around. He thinks some of his wounds might've begun to heal, too.”

Aloth hummed quietly. “He has seemed a bit livelier as of late, come to think of it. I even saw him eating at the table with everyone in the mess the other day, rather than sitting in the corner.”

She smiled. “That's good to hear.”

“Well, it's good of you to help him.”

Heat flushed across her face and she fidgeted uncomfortably.

“I suppose. I know I'm not really fixing anything, not permanently.” She paused for a moment, biting her lip. “…Pallegina and I also talked to him about what she did to her chime. And I've offered to take him to Giacolo's new lab, more than once, but… he's ambivalent about going that far. He said I shouldn't be pushing him to do it either, when I haven't even had it done myself.

“I know it wasn't kind of me,” she continued, “but I laughed in his face when he said that. I asked him why I would need to cut my chime before he does, when the worst thing I have to suffer is that stupid joke people make about whether or not I can actually see anything. I told him that my body wasn't the one decaying alive, that my chime wasn't causing me constant pain—and that he didn't have to accept or endure a lifetime of that either, regardless of what his so-called father said.”

She sighed again, long and wearily as her temples continued to throb.

“Rymrgand's 'gift' is nothing but abusive fucking cruelty.”

Aloth pressed his cheek against her head and rubbed her back. “I don't think there are many kith, alive or dead, who would disagree. But I doubt that would sway him from ensnaring any more mortals with his chime.”

“Yeah, well—why would it?” She huffed in disgust. “After all, we mortals are nothing more than pointless dust, right? Hard to care about dust, I guess, especially when it refuses to wipe away cleanly, and insists that it has an important purpose—”

A sharp crack whipped across the cabin from behind them.

They both startled upright, her lethargy and pain forgotten as she reached for the knife beneath her pillow. She turned to locate the source of the noise, only to find a few splintering, jagged lines spreading across a pane of glass, like something had struck the window. A second fracture snapped loudly a few panes over. Then a third, then more, until violent, sonorous crackling overwhelmed the cabin and the temperature began to rapidly plummet.

Pocks of frozen crystal burst from the walls and ceiling and floor. Rime surged from them, coating the timber and carpet in ice. Her knife burned frigidly hot in her hand and she tossed it away. Next to her, Aloth barely managed to abandon his grimoire before smoking frost encased it whole. She scrambled for the covers then, pulling them up and around her body. But even the blankets weren't spared the incessant freeze, and they soon became a prison of stiff, crusted folds trapping the both of them against an even colder mattress.

Across the room, she caught a glimpse of ghostly, sparkling hoar coating everything before their lantern, too, succumbed to the cold and guttered out.

In the darkness, she and Aloth gasped next to each other. His arms snaked around her and pulled her roughly against him, and hers followed in turn, wrapping around his waist and under the shelter of hair covering his neck. She twined her legs between his and he squeezed back tightly. Plumes of fleeting warmth billowed past their lips as they breathed heavily and shivered into one another.

The snap of ice slowed to intermittent popping and, beneath it, something rumbled almost imperceptibly. The vibration increased rapidly, intensifying to a shrill and piercing wail that lanced into her skull like a needle. Pain exploded across her temples and a burst of white flooded her vision. Distantly, she heard Aloth call her name as she cried out, but she couldn't form the words to speak in response. Her eyes scrunched shut around the feel of knife blades and her head pounded so violently even her teeth and horns hurt. Sweat began to prickle across her skin and her stomach lurched with sickness. In desperation, she scraped at her meager focus reserves and scrambled to subdue her panic, pushing her mind into a rough flatness to ready her powers.

But, to her horror, as she blinked open her mind's eye to use them, something overwhelming and impossibly sharp rushed forward to stab it shut.

Should I wipe you away now, Watcher?

Fresh agony seared her mind while Rymrgand's unmistakable voice cracked across her consciousness. It resonated deeply, shuddering and groaning like a colossal sheet of ice straining to keep its hold on a glacier. Aloth squeezed her tighter and she knew he heard it too. The noise rumbled through her for a long, excruciating moment until it eventually calved. As it splintered and fell away, so too did some of her pain, enough that she could speak again.

“Well,” she gasped, her heart thumping wildly. “Think I could probably clump into one of Eora's weirder-looking dust bunnies, if you let me roll around a while longer.” She briefly clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, then swallowed hard. “I meant what I said too. Your gift is cruelty.”

And your efforts with my progeny are a misguided act of futility. You expend your limited energy and hasten your decline in exchange for nothing, as you readily admit yourself. Yet, you persist, knowing the only place your exertion truly leads is to your own gradual destruction.

Your self-diminution in this regard is… exquisite.

Something shifted in her then, a sense of blinding sunlight on the snow mingled with pleasure.

She blinked.

“Uh, thanks?”

I will permit you to continue your endeavor, to your end or to those you would wrest essence from instead. But you will do so with the knowledge that I will reclaim what is mine from Vatnir should he ever attempt to sever my chime.

The pounding in her head increased, pressing into one continuous ache as the implication hit her.

“You'll kill him? Is that what you mean?”

No.

His death would only be an incidental effect.

Aloth exhaled against her neck. “So either Vatnir lives with the pain or somebody else does,” he mumbled.

Entropy is inexorable. Any fleeting reprieve from it demands a sacrifice. To stave off pain, you must invoke the suffering of something else.

That is your entire existence.

“What's your existence, then?” she rasped. “What are you staving off through his suffering? You're a god. Nothing forced you to put your chime in him. You could have spared him the pain you know it causes, but you didn't.”

I will spare him. Eventually. In the meantime, who will receive temporary reprieve and whose suffering will provide it is a concern I leave you to decide.

Ultimately, it matters not.

She whimpered as the pain cinched around her head and began to crush inward. Her eyes watered and every breath of dry, cold air she took scraped her throat and lungs. It was becoming hard to move, hard to speak, or even think, but it was more difficult than anything else to remain silent.

“…Okay, entropy will claim everything someday. Fine. So what? We're still here, until then, alive before the Wheel turns again. This flash of existence is all we'll ever have, all we'll ever know, and that makes what we choose to do during it the only thing that matters. On our scale, your ending is just as meaningless and unimportant to us as our mortal lives are to you.”

Something shifted in her again, vague contempt while a gale blasted at a mountainside.

You are, undoubtedly, Berath's spawn. Only one of their brats could possess such a shackled understanding of life and death.

“And only a god made from the souls of the most nihilistic Engwithans could think his view of impermanency is the only one that's valid.”

It is the only one that will endure, and even I can appreciate that irony.

An amused snort escaped her nose.

“Well, I hope your ending is the everything and the nothing you want it to be, when it finally comes.” She closed her eyes and buried her face in Aloth's neck. He hugged her tighter and she did her best to return it with her numbing hands. “I'm gonna use my scrap of time to keep helping the people around me,” she muttered. “I don't care if it doesn't last, or if I don't benefit from it myself—it's still always worth it to do right by others and slowly build towards a better world.”

Something shifted in her once more, an avalanche of laughter tumbling free to roar destructively down a slope.

Your better world is littered with the corpses of kith who professed similar sentiments, whose proud words failed to survive even the meager duration of their individual lives. I look forward to seeing how quickly time will erode those same lofty ideals in you as well, Watcher.

Until then, I will be keeping an eye on you.

Seraphina and Aloth flinched as a soul-piercing crack sliced across the room. Their lantern flickered back to life and the ice covering everything splintered, shattered, then disintegrated into powdery vapor, filling the cabin with a fine mist that smelled of ozone and decay. The temperature steadily climbed as it dissipated, until the air returned to that of balmy, tropical night. Cold still lingered in the sheets, however, and in their trembling bodies, the last, deteriorating evidence that something had ever been amiss.

Aloth sighed, then slumped against her. She absently rubbed his back while he shook his head and stroked hers in turn. As warmth prickled painfully back into her hands and feet, whatever sharpness had lodged into her mind's eye melted away too, rolling a sense of frigid wetness across the crown of her head. Only when she shivered from it, and let loose the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, did she notice that all of her pain and fatigue had vanished as well.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

“So… just the one eye then, huh? Not all five?”

“Seraphina…”

“Bet he always will be watching, too,” she muttered. “You know, just to satisfy his obsession with length and duration, not 'cause he's a pervert or anything.”

“Please,” Aloth said against her skin. “What is the one thing I asked you not to do anymore?”

She sighed and leaned away to look at him.

“Sass the gods.”

“And what are you doing right now?”

“Sassing the gods, I know. I'm sorry. I'll stop.”

“Thank you.”

Aloth pulled her back to him and nuzzled his face into her neck as they held each other.

“…He's still a jerk, though,” she added a moment later. “And don't give me that look, 'cause even he admits—”

She yelped loudly and suddenly then, squirming against him while he trapped her with one of his arms.

“Admits what?” he asked innocently.

“Your hand is— So! Cold!”

“Not for long, it isn't.” He gave her a sly smile. “I'm only warm when you're around, remember?”

She laughed, shook her head, and kissed him.

Notes:

Thank you to @alwaysashroomsman for the idea of a cipher using the Pain Block spell on Vatnir <3

[bellatrixobsessed1]

I’ll Meet You At The Bottom (Part 59)

It was easy for Azula to pretend not to hear them whisper about her, she had much to do and no time to pay them any mind anyhow. With any luck they would figure it out on their own, that their Fire Lord was in impeccable condition. In time they’d see that her suspicions were very well based. Xanu hadn’t spoken anything much to Ursa, save for a vague admission that his intentions were dark. It had taken a fair deal of intimidation to get him to admit even that much and Ursa hadn’t the stomach to go beyond a simple rousing of fear. Even so, after a quick chat with Zu-Zu, Azula came to draw her own speculations—theories that were more akin to translucent conclusions. But she wasn’t quite ready to address those matters yet; the boat ride from Ember Island had left her feeling unusually queasy. So she took to her bed first, trying to coax Sokka to speak more of Suki. He’d talked to her about much else but always seemed to dance around the subject as if it were a taboo of sorts. This time he dodged the subject, insisting that Azula didn’t have the energy to deal with it at the moment. “And besides I’ve got to finish this painting.”

 “Sokka, the portrait will still be there when you’re done talking to me.” She insisted. Mostly she was feeling okay anyways, she thought that she might be up and about sooner than she had anticipated.

 “But the mental image won’t be…and the paints might dry in their tubes.”

 “You have the worst excuses.” She bunched her nose. “I can buy you new paint and you know that you’re good at remembering these things.” She sat up, supporting most of her weight on the bedpost. “But fine, if you don’t want to talk, I’ve got other things to do.” She decided that the hour of rest had been plenty enough. She fetched herself an outfit for the day and headed for the door. “If you run out of paint let Zu-Zu know, he’ll get you more.” And with that she was off. By this time she had come to know that if she left Sokka hanging and pretended to be uninterested, he would come to her with his problems. She supposed that he was a lot like her in that way.

 She heard the shuffle of footsteps before she could make it halfway down the hallway. “What things do you have to do?”

 She didn’t answer him right away. “My father and I have to have a little discussion.”

 At this Sokka visibly cringed.

 “If you can talk to him, I can.” Azula replied. Before Sokka could counter she added, “Yes, Zu-Zu told me about that. Apparently he wasn’t very helpful.”

 Keeping her nonchalant bravado was growing increasingly difficult as she found herself nearing the prison. She shouldn’t care, but she did—very much so—about what he thought of her. Her care came more out of habit than anything else. Without any exchange of words at all, she knew that he thought lowly of her. And just as much out of habit, the thought stung. For this she found herself thankful that she had let Sokka come along.

 She knew that it was Ozai that drove Xanu to make his move, but for what reason? Azula made her way into the mouth of the prison. The prison she shuddered to be with in such close proximity to, knowing how close she had come to being one of its residents. I occurred to her then, that it might not have been a good idea to bring Sokka along, he was just one more thing Ozai could use against her. Numbing as many of her nerves as she could, she told Sokka to wait outside. Azula re-fashioned her hair and smoothed down her clothes. Sokka pulled on her wrist before she could enter the room with Ozai’s cell. He tucked her bangs behind her ear, “good luck.”

 “I’ll be fine.” She replied. She hoped that she would be anyways. She took another moment to compose herself in full and run through her script one last time before pushing the door open. She stood quietly for a moment, waiting for him to acknowledge her. When he finally turned around she started, “Xanu. You picked Xanu. Honestly, he was probably one of the least competent guards we had. But then, you were the one who appointed him as head guard.”

 “What do you know about competence?” Ozai grumbled.

 “Enough to evade Xanu and plenty more to earn myself a little something…” she motioned to the five bladed crown of the Fire Lord, “and I didn’t even have to steal it away.”

 Ozai snorted. “A waste of power.” He shook his head.

 “I suppose the only correct use of it would be to give it to you?” Azula replied.

 “Better than leaving it in the hands of a drunk.” Ozai sneered, “and here I thought that you were the pride of our family.” He paused. “I suppose that’s what happens when your eldest son sets the bar so low, and yet…you managed to slide under even that.”

 Azula fought back a flinch, she thought he knew only as much as she let him see in the past. That she had suffered a startling breakdown and no more than that. A familiar prickle of self-loathing seeped through the cracks in her armor. She fought to direct the feeling elsewhere and ended up glaring at her father with such a piercing hatred.

 “Xanu kept me up to date on the state of the palace.” He shrugged. “He told me that he let you venture off one night to find yourself some drugs.”

 Another uneasy jab churned her belly, at the realization that her clever escape hadn’t been so clever at all. He had seen her and he had let her go.

 “I told him to act sooner, when you were still on them. It’s a shame he didn’t have the guts.” Ozai mused aloud. His words roused the sickly feeling even higher. He was planning on using her all along. “It was pretty easy to get Xanu on my side, especially after my lovely wife came back into the picture. He hated you already for besting him in the military. And he hated your mother for leading him on like the tramp she is.”

 In all her years, Azula never imagined that she’d get angry on behalf of her mother. She worked her jaw ready to speak her piece.

 “Like mother like daughter.” He spoke first, his face marred by a hideous leer. “I told him that it would hurt her if something happened to you. Add a promise of a share of power and he was finally ready to act. It’s a shame, what you’ve become.”

 Azula sighed in relief. “If you don’t like it, then I suppose I’m doing better than I thought.” She propped herself against the wall. “So what would you have done? I wouldn’t have been able to get the crown for you when I was on drugs.”

 “That was Xanu’s job.” Ozai shrugged. “He’d have gotten the crown, said a few kind words, and handed it to you. He’d have said more reassuring and pretty things to you afterwards…”

 He would have played on her insecurities. She shuddered to think of it, she liked to believe that it wouldn’t have been that easy.

 “Eventually he would have put the idea into your head, to let me free and give the crown to its rightful owner. But the fool waited too long! He was supposed to make his move before you sobered up.”

 Everything in his tone indicated that sobering up wasn’t part of the plan in any way at all. “And if I had given you the crown?” She knew she shouldn’t be asking questions she didn’t want to know the answer to. “Would you have helped me?”

 “If I had the time, maybe.” He waved the question off. “Understand that I would have had a country to rule. What you did with yourself after that wouldn’t have been a priority.”

 Azula concluded that he probably would have brought her an unending supply of Ruby Tears if it meant getting her off of his back. He would have indulged her in her habits until they killed her. In the same way it reeled her already uneasy stomach, it was, in a way, comforting. Comforting to know that she had no longer had reason to tether herself to him. To feel pity for the shell of a man wasting away behind those bars. If he couldn’t spare her a hint of concern when he knew that she had been killing herself from within, wasting herself away, then she owed him just as little. And she owed him even less knowing that he’d have had Xanu flirt with her if it meant earning him his power back.

 “Everything was going so well…” Ozai trailed off. “It would have worked.”

 Sokka was a wildcard through and through Azula decided. And luckily, he was in her deck.

 “It isn’t enough to disgrace us with your drugs and by talking to things that aren’t there. You had to let tribe trash litter our bloodlines as well. Even Zuko didn’t do that.” Ozai snarled.

 Azula licked her lips, he was striking at every sore point. But somehow the cuts didn’t reopen. She wasn’t crazy, she wasn’t on drugs, and she was rather proud of her tribe trash. “I suppose this cell is built from pillars of glory and bars of honor. No wonder it’s so impeccable.” She gave the metal a soft kick. “Tattered prison uniforms and straggly hair is the picture of nobility these days.” She turned around and with the wave of her hand added, “I’ll be sure to ask the Avatar to take my firebending too, I have to make sure that I’m the picture of dignity.”

 “You showed much dignity at your party. How did it feel to lose control again?” His voice was slick and baiting. “One drink more and I would have had my crown back, and you? You’d probably right back where you started.”

  He had been counting on her to let herself fall again. He had so much faith that she was still a slave to the bottle. It scared her that he might have been right. That he very nearly had been. She took only three or four steps before turning back around. If there was one skill she retained from her days as daddy’s little girl, it was her potent ability to lie. “Oh, that’s not true at all. your plan wouldn’t have worked even if I did drink the whole bottle last night. I promise, it isn’t even possible for me to be drunk enough to give you the crown.” Even if she was, it would be at the point where she’d be to trashed to do it anyhow. “Anyways, I’d love to talk more but I have to poison the bloodline some more.” She couldn’t possibly put herself any lower in his eyes, so she might as well have some fun. Just to see the look on his she added, “I’ll be poisoning the bloodline tonight, in my bedroom. I’ll name the it after you.” She let her hand fall on her stomach for emphasis. “How’s this for a title: grandpa Ozai.”

 That look was worth it. Worth every single venomous word that fell from his lips after it. That look of sheer horror, that no one had ever been able to instill in him before. She wished she had invited Sokka in so that he could render it forever in paint. She strolled across the room and unlatched the door.

 “Get back here!” He demanded with the volume and in the tone that used to jar her to the core. The harsh tenor that had her scrambling to do exactly has he bade.

 “I can’t. I have a country to rule.” She shrugged. “What you do in your quaint little cell isn’t a priority.”

 .oOo.

 Azula was very silent for much of the night, Sokka was growing concerned that her father had gotten into her head. She didn’t speak much of their conversation and when she did it was very vague. He had to have struck some nerve because she didn’t seem any less burdened when the gossip of her going insane turned to words of praise that she had saved their nation with her foresight. ‘Crazy’ and ‘drunk’ had fast turned to ‘clever’ and ‘fantastic actress’ when news of Xanu’s confession spread. Sokka shuddered, he didn’t even want to know how Ursa drew that one out. Even with all of the praise, the Fire Lord had kept herself perched on the roof, deep in thought.

 “You should come down from there, what if you fall?” Sokka tried.

 She simply waved him off with a very soft, “I do this all the time.”

 So instead he climbed onto the roof with her and offered to let her sit in his lap. She stood and made herself comfy in his arms. She had her eyes on the drooping sun.

 “Are you okay?” He asked.

 “I’m fine.”

 “What did he say to you?” Sokka pried.

 “It wasn’t anything he said.”

 .oOo.

 It was what she spoke, that troubled her. She had only meant to boil her father’s blood to the fullest. But now she couldn’t put it out of her mind.

 She had Sokka. He was hers without a doubt, but she found that she didn’t know exactly what to do with that. But at the same time, she did. She knew that she wanted to keep him, marry the man perhaps. But what then?

 Azula had put the suggestion out in spite but, she wasn’t sure if she fancied the idea for real. Wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to make good on her taunt, much less if Sokka would like to make good on it. It was more of an unconscious motion, something she hadn’t even realized she’d done. She moved his hand over her belly.

[professordrarry]

I can't find the prompt post so I'm just gonna wing it and hope this fits your request for prompts! Drarry OBVIOUSLY + their first Christmas together 🎄💜

It was fun writing this one! Because Drarry and Christmas is  😍 . I love it, and I love you. Thanks for always listening to me whine, even when it’s just a Tim Tam crisis. Please never stop writing far more beautiful smut than me, because the world needs to not be relying on my smut to get by…*WARNING* There is smut ahead. It’s tame and super fluffy. It’s also short, and pretty badly written, frankly. But it exists. You can skip this one if you want. I warn because I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve Tumblr Smut-ted, even in the vague ‘the cocks are out’ kind of way that this is written.  😉  

Deck the Halls (with Draco’s body)

“You said this was a good idea,” Draco complained, running around and trying to put the last string of lights up, failing miserably because he was casting his sticking charms too quickly. Hermione laughed and sent the charm after him, securing the dangling lights.

“It is a good idea,” she said. “He’s going to love it. You better hurry, though, he’ll be home any second. I heard him land downstairs a moment ago.”

Draco, red and exhausted, hand through his hair and stood in the middle of the living room nervously.  The key to the front door unlocked a moment later, scraping just as it always did, the hinges squeaking painfully. He felt stupid. He could have just fixed the front door as a gift. That would have been less absurd. As soon as Harry entered the room, Draco threw his hands above his head. Feeling absolutely ridiculous, he shouted ‘Surprise!’, making Harry jump.

Harry, recovering quickly, looked all around the flat; he took in the lights, the stockings, the decorations and the table laden with cookies and decorating supplies. The fire crackled loudly in the corner — the fire they never lit because it made the flat too hot. Obviously, someone had cast a shield over it, because the flat was the same temperature as always. He turned to face Draco carefully. Draco, who wouldn’t meet his eyes and looked about to pass out.

“What did you do to him?” Harry said to Hermione.

“I didn’t do anything, but he does seem to be broken,” Hermione laughed.

“Shut up both of you,” Draco hissed, returning to himself a bit and glaring.

Harry grinned at him with his lopsided grin, and asked, “What is this?”

Draco inhaled carefully and looked at the floor.“Hermione told me you never had a Christmas with the terrible family,” he started.  “I–I just figured you should get to do all the things that you missed out on, so I bought a real tree so we can decorate it, and there is cookie dough in the fridge, and we can roast marshmallows on the fire and wrap our gifts together, and we can do this tomorrow if you want because I know you’re probably tired, and I’m sorry this is stupid, isn’t it? I blame Granger.”

“You told him I never had Christmas?” Harry asked, looking at Hermione.

“You didn’t.” She shrugged. 

Harry shrugged in return. “I had Christmas at Hogwarts.”

“That’s Hogwarts,” Draco insisted. “Everyone has Christmas at Hogwarts. It’s not the same.”

Harry looked around again as he stepped forward and took off his coat. He carefully surveyed the bright shining twinkling, the fake snow on the windows, the glitter everywhere, inhaled the smell of the fire and the tree. He whirled back around.

“Hermione you’re going to want to leave now,” he said gently.“What? Why?”“Well,” Harry inhaled. “I’m going to ravage my boyfriend now, possibly right here in this room. I mean, if that’s something you like to witness, I guess that’s fine. Although, I’ve never thought we had that type of relationship.”

Hermione threw her hands up in defeat and backed out slowly, wishing them a ‘festive celebration’ as she laughed.

“You gave me Christmas,” Harry said, cocking his head to study Draco’s face.

“I mean I know it’s a little silly —” Draco started.

“Draco you gave me Christmas for Christmas,” Harry repeated. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fuck you right now?”

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t have time. Harry was right in front of him, arms everywhere on his body at once, dragging his head back and nipping at his neck.

“I honestly can’t think of any reasons at all,” Draco hummed, inhaling Harry, who smelled of work and cold. He pulled Harry’s face back from his neck to look at him. “Did you mean it? Right here?”

Harry grinned wickedly as he pulled up the hem of his jumper, but by the time it was off his head, he looked a little worried. “I mean, only if you want to,” he said nervously.

“God, yes,” Draco smirked, moving forward to run his hands under Harry’s t-shirt, simultaneously pulling it off and flattening his palms against the warm skin below. He pressed kisses to the skin he exposed, pulling Harry’s trousers down too. It was always his favourite thing to leave Harry exposed and shivering while he was still fully clothed himself. “Though, we don’t exactly have the necessary supplies.”

“Think I can handle that,” Harry declared, flicking a careless wrist toward the bedroom. Draco murmured, incoherently impressed, as a surge of wandless magic washed over him and the lube flew from the cupboard and into Harry’s outstretched hand.

Harry laughed. “Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the expression on your face when I do that,” he teased.

“Don’t think you understand how bloody gorgeous everything feels when you do that,” Draco replied. “And then you always go and ruin it by talking.”

“Shut me up, then,” Harry crooned.

Draco wasted no time doing just that. Christmas lights twinkled in the corner of his eye as he kissed Harry softly. For all his teasing, he was glad Harry seemed to like the decor; this was their first Christmas in the flat, after all. It had been a gamble to make him celebrate before he knew how Harry felt about the holiday.

“You need to make sure no one ever finds out how sentimental you are,” Harry said when they broke apart. “It will completely destroy your reputation.”

Draco sighed happily as Harry pulled his jumper off, undid Draco’s trousers, wasted no time as he lowered them both to the ground.

“You meant like right here, then,” Draco smiled, pulling Harry flush against him, wrapping his legs around him tightly.

“Yes,” Harry nodded, nuzzling Draco’s neck. “But not like this, I want to see everything, the decorations.”

Draco laughed as Harry pulled him to kneeling and forced him to turn around. His knees creaked and he kept giggling, right up until Harry’s hand hit the curve of his arse, slick with lube Draco hadn’t heard him apply. His laugh turned into a murmured yes as Harry’s hand ran down the crack between his cheeks, softly caressing but not really doing much more.

“Whaddya think, D? Can you take me without prep? This is a repeat of this morning, after all,” Harry asked softly, smirking as he tugged on Draco’s hair gently.

Draco growled as his cock finished filling, Harry’s hand still just a soft press of fingers, his words drawing Draco fully hard and ready.

“We’ll never know if we don’t try, will we?” Draco answered a moment later. He had no time to regret his words because Harry chose that moment to line up and push into Draco with a subtle groan. Harry had been right; Draco’s body shifted and adjusted without hesitation, and he grinned at the floor, stretching back into Harry’s grip.

“You good?” Harry gritted, clearly trying to steady himself and stay still. Draco laughed and shifted his hips back, rocking and encouraging Harry.

“Perfect,” Draco hissed. “I’m perfect, Harry. You’re perfect.”

Harry lovingly rubbed Draco’s back as he began to move, reaching forward to twist Draco’s cock in a languid grip. Longevity didn’t seem to be Harry’s goal as he set a speedy pace, shifting Draco’s knees against the carpet in a motion that may be painful later but for now, caused a wonderful friction that he loved. He dropped his elbows to the carpet to push Harry deeper, and it was only moments before he felt himself shift into an even faster rhythm, Harry’s filthy grunting and slapping pushing Draco over the edge quickly. Harry followed, and Draco collapsed quickly, being smothered by Harry’s warm weight and open-mouthed kisses on his shoulders.

A few moments later, Draco flung his arms out across the rug, wincing slightly when the carpet burns on the backs of his arms made contact. He turned to grin at Harry as he asked, “Do you think that this flat knew when we bought it that it would be shamelessly used for indecent purposes, in every single room?”

“Oh my God,” Harry groaned. “Was this the last room?”

Draco nodded and laughed against Harry’s chest as he moved to rest on him.

“I would have just bought a Christmas tree months ago if I’d known it was going to break your prudish ‘we can’t do it in the lounge where anyone can see’ rule,” Draco murmured, kissing Harry on the nipple and making him shudder.“Not the tree, you git,” Harry yawned. “It’s you.”Draco turned to watch the fairy lights as they twinkled; he watched the troll ornament from the flea market, the one that that moved around the mantle, shaking its club menacingly. He watched the pixie lights wink, listened to the carols in the background. It made him smile like a little kid.

“A little bit it’s the tree,” Draco said.Harry smiled, kissing Draco on the nose. “Fine, a little bit it’s the tree.”