#I added gloves that means it's a new thing I invented

[not-a-space-alien]

Desperate Daybreak Chapter 2

In this chapter: Lex and Ari help Valen scramble to figure out what to do about the unexpected news. Traveling back to a familiar (but unwelcome) estate means seeing a familiar (and not entirely unwelcome) face.

MMSS masterpost

DD masterpost

On AO3

Chapter 2

***

Valen dropped the phone.  It dangled from the curly cord bumping against the floor, Tessie’s voice calling faint, “Hello?  Mr. Kithrara?  Are you there?”

“Yes!” Valen shouted, scrambling to get the phone back to his ear.  “Yes, I’m here!  I’m here.  I, ah, surely I must be misinterpreting somehow, right?  He left me the entire estate?”

“Yes.  You can see why I wanted to discuss it in person.”

“...Yes, yes I do see that, now.  I can, ah, I can arrange to travel as soon as possible.  Tell me, what’s a good number to call you back at?”

Valen walked into the next room looking shell shocked.  Lex and Ari straightened up.  Ari patted her lap.  “Come here.  What happened?”

Valen mechanically came over and sat on her lap, in her arms.  “My husband has died.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Lex said.  “You must be having some pretty complicated feelings about that.  Want to talk about it?”

Valen shook his head.  “It isn’t that.  His will bequeathed the entire Kithrara estate to me.”

“Hah, that’d be the dream,” Ari said.

Valen didn’t respond.

“Oh you–You’re serious.  Wait, you’re serious?  He did that?  He did that for real?”

“According to the lawyer on the phone, yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Uh.”

“Yes.”

“So…what do we do now?”

***

Valen had put together improved hunting gear for Lex and Ari.  He didn’t make weapons like Nick had, cruel things that killed in new and interesting ways.  When he was called upon to help the vampire hunters, he made things that kept people alive.  First aid kits he distributed alongside instructions on how to dress bites in the field such that someone didn’t bleed out.  White noise machines and special earplugs that meant the vampire hunters could fight without listening to the vampires using persuasion.

And his proudest invention, what Lex and Ari were currently donning:  Silver body-armor, a silver and steel alloy made of the composition Nick had discovered by testing on Valen’s own body, distributed in inlaid plates over the torso, neck, limbs, and hands.  Lex and Ari had been the first ones to wear them, because Valen wasn’t always brave enough to go on a hunt with them but couldn’t stand the thought of them being unprotected against the kinds of vampires that came over the border.

It was entirely protective, except for the plates inlaid on the gloves.  Those were offensive.  All one would have to do would be to grab the bare skin of their assailant to cause burns.

The only downside was Valen could no longer receive hugs from Ari or gentle touches from Lex, the two things they distributed in such abundance that life felt almost bearable at times.  He stared at their hands as they flashed around the gathered baggage, sitting on the ground among them as though waiting for them to cart him off as well.

“Ready?” Lex said, slinging a duffel over her shoulder.

“Yes,” Valen said.

As Valen stood, Bailey pulled him into a hug.  “You take care of yourself, hear?”

“You know how to get ahold of us if you need backup,” Jerome added.

Valen nodded tearfully, sniffling into Bailey’s shoulder.  “Please take good care of Snowball for me.”

“You know we will.”

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t eat Princess D, either,” Jerome said.  He smiled and handed him a backpack.  “Go on.”

“Thank you so much.”

Ari finished loading their bags into the van, the same one they’d made their previous journey over the border in.  This time, they were leaving during the day to give themselves as much time at night as possible.  The goal of their excursion could not possibly be more different than it had been that first time.

“Bye, boys,” Ari said.  “Love you.”

More hugs all around, then Ari climbed into the driver’s seat and took off.  Lex had the maps in the passenger’s seat as usual, and Valen had constructed a little cubby hole with sheets in the back to protect himself from the sun.

“This all feels extremely strange,” Valen said.

“Yeah, I bet,” Ari said.

Valen was swimming in thoughts of the first few times he had been here, in the van–in the coffin, before they’d even introduced themselves and before Lex and Ari even cared what happened to him.  Valen forcing Lex to drive back to his house out in the country, then the same trip on the way back with him restrained in the back.  It had been such a rough start.  Valen was still scared of those versions of Lex and Ari, even though they only existed in memory now.

He wished he could look out the window to pass the time, but the sun was out there.  Instead, he read his books.  He was too nervous to focus much, but luckily he was pretty much immune to motion sickness.

The car slowed down as the terrain got bumpier.  “God, I don’t remember it taking this long,” Ari complained.  “This is gonna take forever.”

“Just be patient, babe.”

Lex and Ari commented on things they passed in an amused way, the horses and cows, the telephone wires, the road signs.  They spoke as though they barely expected vampires to have any of those.

“Last time, we couldn’t figure out what you guys used them for,” Lex told Valen.  “Bailey and Jerome couldn’t either.”

“Use what for?”

“The cows.”

“Cows are a common livestock animal in many parts of the world for meat, milk, hide, and-”

“Well, yeah, but what would a vampire need to use them for?  You don’t eat meat.”

“There are humans who don’t eat meat, but your society still has cows.”

“Well… yeah, but...”

“Gelatine is made from animal collagen, did you know that?  Most commonly from the connective tissue of cows and pigs.”

“...Never change, Valen.”

By the time the sun was going down, they were in an area populated densely enough that they could see civilization start to come alive.  Shuttered and sealed doors opened, dogs barked, conversation and laughter sounded out across backyards.  Children played on lawns–wow, yep, much more quickly and roughly than human children, as two young vampires chased each other around as fast as a car and wrestled in such a way that they accidentally knocked down a nearby tree.

Ari hunched over, looking hunted.  Lex’s hand crept down to her gun.

Valen took down the blankets, folding them up.   “It’s all right.  They’re normal people.  They won’t hurt you.”

Ari kept her wary gaze on a vampire checking his mailbox, then abruptly swerved with a loud, “Jesus Christ!”

A blue car nearly sideswiped them and sped past, easily going 90mph to outclass Ari’s modest 30mph.  “What the fuck,” Ari growled.  “Asshole.  There’s–there’s kids h- I mean, I know they wouldn’t die, but-”

Valen reached forward to put a comforting hand on Ari’s arm, then remembered he would burn himself.  “Things are just different here.  Just be as careful as you can, and wear your seatbelt.”

Things got less noisy when they went into the obviously wealthy part of town, lively lawns with hanging laundry and screaming, excited children replaced with spacious estates too large to hear anyone screaming across.

“Christ, now I feel out of place because our van is dented,” Ari muttered.

The looming wrought iron gate and stone pillars of the Kithrara estate came into view.  With the fountain lit up red and the grounds active with vampires, the entrance looked much more menacing at night than during the day as they'd seen it before.  Lex and Ari’s skin crawled.

Valen, by contrast, looked more depressed than scared.  “Maybe one day I’ll be free of having to come back here.”

The van nosed up to the gate.  Valen sighed and opened the side door.  “You two stay in the van.  I suppose we shall have to let ourselves in.  I expect they will not be entirely pleased to see us.”

“Right.”  Ari’s grip was tight on the steering wheel, grinding her teeth.

Valen stepped out of the van, walked up to the gate, and leapt a dozen feet up into the air from a standstill, flipping over the gate with the grace of an acrobat.  He landed on the other side primly and straightened his cravat before disappearing behind the stone wall.

Lex and Ari stared after him.  “You know,” Lex said slowly.  “I sometimes forget he can, like, just do that.”

“Yeah.”

The gate buzzed open, and the iron gates slowly swung outwards.  Valen appeared walking back to the van.

“So,” Ari said as Valen got back inside the vehicle.  “If anyone can just walk up and backflip over the gate, what’s the point of having it?”

“I imagine it’s mostly psychological,” Valen answered.  “Most locks and doors and fences on this side of the border are.  The looming social consequences for breaking and entering an estate like this far outweigh whatever barrier the physical wall might impose.”

“Ngh,” was Ari’s response.  She nosed the van forward, cautiously creeping up the driveway snaking through the massive lawn.

Valen squinted as a vampire in a maid outfit threw the main entrance open and sprinted out, straight out them.  “Is that–Oh!”

“Mistress Kithrara!” the woman cheered, bouncing with glee.  “They said you were coming back!”

“Callidora!” Valen called.  He once again threw the door open and let himself be tackle-hugged by his beloved handmaiden.  “How are things here?”

“They’ve been so awful without you here, ma’am!”  Callidora drew back, then made a face.  She tried to squash it, but not quick enough.  “Mistress…. What have you done to your…”  Her eyes bounced up and down.  Clearly she was trying not to say your everything.  “... Your face?”

Valen rubbed a hand along his jawline.  “I have facial hair because I’ve been taking testosterone, Callidora.  I live as a man now.  You may recall I tried to talk to Priscus and his family about it at one point, but I gave up eventually.”

“Oh.”  Callidora clearly thought this was extremely weird and undesirable.

Valen tried to hide his disappointment.  “I’m still the same person, Callidora.  I just have facial hair, now.”

“And a deeper voice.”

“And a deeper voice, yes.”

“And your skin isn’t as soft.”

“My-”  Valen went red at the same time as Callidora did.  “My skin isn’t as soft?”

“Only a little bit,” Lex piped up.  “The softness of the body hair makes up for it.”

Valen hid his face in his hands, mortified.

“All right, all right,” Ari said.  “We don’t have to sit here and count the ways Valen changes when he’s on testosterone.”

Callidora looked over at Lex and Ari like she’d just noticed them.  “Oh, you brought your humans!  You two be sure not to get lost this time!”  She was so well-meaning and genuine and whole-heartedly condescending Ari almost flipped out on the spot.

She reined herself in, though.  “Listen, girly, the point is, Valen is a man, and he’s happier this way.  He’s not a mistress, not really.”

“Oh…”  Callidora tapped her fingers.  “Can I still call you mistress, though?”

Well, that was probably as good as it was going to get.  “I suppose,” Valen relented.  “It might seem strange, though.”

Callidora beamed.  “You’re back now.  That’s all that’s important!”

“Yes, I am.  I’m not sure for how long, though.  I imagine the family is in quite the uproar.”

“Yes!  The police are here, and a lawyer, and they want to talk to you as soon as you get in!”

“Goodness!”  Anxiety squeezed Valen’s heart.  “Why are the police here?”

“They think you killed your husband!  Oh, but the lawyer told me not to tell you that yet!  Sorry!  Please don't tell him!”

“They think I–?  I wasn't even in town!”

Callidora shrugged and grimaced.  “I don’t know, Mistress.  That’s just what they said.”

Valen turned to Lex and Ari.  “Well, taking to the police was certainly not what I expected to be at the top of the list of unpleasantries today, but I don’t suppose we have much choice.”  Part of him wanted to just wash his hands of the situation entirely.  To just go back over the border where vampires wouldn’t bother him.  The whole situation had him feeling… numb.

But he would regret it, he knew he would.  He had to be brave and wade into this situation.

Ari reached out and put a hand on his arm, being careful to only touch his clothes because of her metal gloves.  “Valen, I know you can do this.”

Valen nodded.  “Right.”  He eyed the main entrance of the estate, where Callidora was in the process of throwing open the elaborate doors and announcing him.  “Let’s do this.”

***

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[wonderhoy-dump]

Missing Scene from Chapter 8 of Tsukasa Tenma’s Timeline to the Left

“I’m done setting up the cones! Now will you finally tell me what we’re blocking off this entire section for?”

Rui strides up to the band stage where Tsukasa is waving him over.

“Tsk tsk, why so testy, Tsukasa? I thought you said you trusted me?”

“I do, I do! This is my excited face! I’m excited about you adding a whole new staging setup less than a week before our show goes live. So excited!”

“Hm. Perhaps we should first work on the cogency of your improv skills.”

Tsukasa instantly turns red and sputtery at the jab. Their lead actor is almost too easy to rile up these days—takes all the fun out of it, honestly. 

Rui calms him down with some appeasing hand gestures and directs him back to where the cones first began, near the entrance to the plaza area. 

“I was thinking about your comments from the other day,” Rui narrates as they walk, “about how the action scene doesn’t enthrall the audience enough. Well, you were right. My original staging did not serve the chase scene in a way that would make this show or story truly great. Unfortunately, I don’t have much experience working with a cast of non-robotic troupe members, and I struggled to develop a solution befitting the strengths and skills of the Wanderers.”

“Rui…”

“Thankfully,” —he breezes forward— “that matter was quickly resolved once I realized I am no longer alone in the show creation process. Emu was kind enough to offer her suggestions, several of which I found immensely intriguing and have since made into reality.”

“You got Emu to share an idea with you!? What did she come up with!?”

Although irked by Tsukasa’s volume, Rui still smiles because he can’t help feeling a little proud of that accomplishment. 

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” 

With a grand gesture, he sweeps Tsukasa’s attention to behind the back plaza, where Emu is darting over the bushes with superhuman leaps. 

The high-powered mechanical exoskeleton Rui had finished up for her is greatly enhancing her already monstrous athletic abilities. Nene stands to the side, filming video of Emu’s movements so Rui can assess for adjustments later. 

Tsukasa gawks at the scene. 

“What. What am I looking at?”

“It’s the Bunny Power Suit!”

“Bunny Power Suit? Is that what you’re calling the Star Training Suit?”

“Your Rui calls it the Star Training Suit?”

“Because I’m the one he makes wear it! H-He once had me jumping Olympian-style hurdles all day in that thing!”

“Well then. Good news for you: Emu was so excited about the ‘robot suit’ she saw when visiting my workshop, I resized everything for her to use in this show. So I guess you won’t be subjected to my invention in this world, Tsukasa.”

“Oh. Right. Uh, cool. But what does all that mean for the finale scene?”

Rui chuckles. “Thank you for that perfect setup.”

He snaps three times in a predefined pattern. Emu’s head whips around.

“Ms. Bounty Hunter: Mr. Alien has been located,” Rui delivers his lines in a commanding character voice. He levels a gloved hand at an alarmed Tsukasa. “Capture by any means necessary.”

“Roger that, captain!”

“Wait, wait, we’re doing the chase scene here? I thought—AURGHHAH!!!” 

Tsukasa narrowly dodges a bullet-speed Emu, who overshoots her strike by quite a bit and ends up racing nearly to the other end of the plaza due to excess momentum. 

“WHAT WAS THAT!?!”

“Oh, you do have nice reflexes. That will serve you well today.”

“Rui! What’s happening!? What are we doing!?”

“Right, so this pathway you’ve fenced off,” Rui begins to explain, as Nene runs to help Emu regain control of the suit, “the alien bounty hunter will be chasing her alien past the back stands, through the plaza, all the way up to the spaceship. See, instead of starting the ‘chase’ on the stage, Emu thought it would be more invigorating to put a chase through the park itself and end it on the stage.”

Tsukasa's panicked expression is instantly replaced with consideration as he processes the idea. 

“Huh. Wait, that’s clever. It takes advantage of the street show setting by making the action more immersive.”

“Correct. Fencing off this path should help us do that safely by keeping visitors out of the way.” 

“I see... I knew Emu had it in her for a great idea! But why is the Star Suit necessary?”

“Bunny Suit,” Rui corrects. “And that part is because the bounty hunter has to present as a major threat to the alien. I mean sure, Emu does judo, kickboxing, and parkour—”

“Kickboxing?”

“—but the audience doesn’t know that! Her suit capabilities and awesome mech appearance help establish her immediately as someone who can destroy the protagonist with a single strike!” 

Tsukasa doesn’t look nearly as happy about this as he should be. 

“So anyways, you must know the suit’s strength takes a bit of getting used to,” Rui continues, “which is why I’ve reworked this entire rehearsal for you and her to flesh out the choreography while also giving her some tactile experience. I gave her the basic tutorial earlier, but she still needs to run around a bit, get a feel for the aerodynamics.”

“Y–You mean to have an entire practice of me sprinting back and forth on this route while she hunts me down like an animal?”

“Exactly. And to help her get into character, I’ve put a little bounty on your head. For every time she catches you in the giant butterfly net, you owe her one taiyaki.”

“If it’s a bounty, why am I buying her the taiyaki!?” 

“Because then it doubles as an incentive. She gets the positive, you get the negative. And by the way, she’s looping back here with her Terminator run, so you have about three seconds after I end this sentence before she, ah, ends you.”

“Urk–!” 

Expression torn between wanting to complain to Rui more and not wanting Emu to flatten him, Tsukasa rightly chooses the correct option and sprints away. A half second later, Emu blasts past Rui with enough speed to make his hair swish. Another half second later, Tsukasa screams and Emu cheers for Taiyaki #1. 

Rui smiles. This show will no doubt be fantastic. 

[kinsey3furry300]

While this is very cool, the big problem with this is, sometimes the traditional crafters are dead wrong because they don't realise just how new most traditional crafts are over an archaeological timescale. This is why achedemics should reach out to other communities to see if they have insight, but also why those communities should listen to what the achedemics say in return.

I remember reading archaeological text books where it said pre Colombian Mexicans kept knives in the rafters of buildings, and we didn't know why so it must be religious. Turns out if you don't have shelves that where you put them to stop your kids playing with them, no one had ever asked a mother with toddlers where they would keep them if they lived in this space. But I also remember reading a 2000+ word essay by a modern potter on how a lot of Greek pottery must be ornamental or ritual because its unglazed and as a result porous and won't hold fluids. Yeah, you cook with it once and the fat clogs the pores, and it holds fluid after that. That's been known archaeologically basically forever, and confirmed once the scanning electron microscope was invented, but to someone who's never cooked with the pots they make, they would never see it. We thought some hairdoos on roman staues must be wigs as no one could figer out how to do it, until they asked a hairdresser, who was able to re-create it by sewing hair in place. We ignored indigenous Easter Islanders when they said they walked thier statues into place, we forgot roman concrete, Lost the recipefor greek fire... but sometimes the acedemics spot clear problems in simple solutions offered by laypeople, and it causes wild misinformation about the past to spread if not countered. Knowledge has to be a two-way street.

Its like that weird roman dodecahedron, the idea that some granny solved it and knitted glove fingers using it is really really cool...

... its just a pity that knitting as a technology wasn't known until the 11tc century AD. Its a medieval Egyptian Arab technology to make more breathable cotton, and wasn't known in Europe until after the crusades. Nålebinding, or knottless knitting, may have been known in Scandinavia as early as the 5th century, but doesn't seem to have spread south and was unknown entirely in classical antiquity. We have a lot of well preserved fabrics from Greece and the roman empire, and while corse loose-knit wool fabrics are known, they are either made on a loom or basket-woven together by hand (with one late roman helmet liner that may be Nålebinding from a danish bog and one from an alpine salt mine but that's controversial). Knitting, historically speaking, is a new technology we've not yet found the boundaries for. Crochet is white-hot bleeding edge tech, being 18th century. It will be millenia before we understand the limitations of Crochet, and that's awesome.

Sometimes the nerds in their ivory towers need to listen to some wisdom from outside their comfort zone, and Sometimes traditional craftspeople need to be gently sat down and told that there are living tortoises older than their "traditional" craft. The experts are often wrong, and arrogant about it. The same unfortunately, its also true of the non experts. If an old mystery has a clear, simple, obvious solution that appeared online in the past ten years, give it a good hard look to see if that solution actually fits the evidence. Just becaues its a logical solution to us today, doest means its the logical solution people in the past would have picked. The world isn't usually simple enough to provide us with the satisfying answer we want, and that's okay.

Edit: quite funnily since posting this I have received an article on Roman Nålebinding, and it appears that while knitting with needles was indeed unknown in classical Greece and Rome, Nålebinding was in fact known and used in both Greece and Rome, but remained a niche thing only used in certain local areas. Fiber crafts really are the academic fronteer that never rests. As Ursula Vernon said "In historical accuracy there are two groups who will always spot if you're wrong by a single year and call you out: the gun people and the textiles people, and I fear the textiles people more."

Something I find incredibly cool is that they’ve found neandertal bone tools made from polished rib bones, and they couldn’t figure out what they were for for the life of them. 

Until, of course, they showed it to a traditional leatherworker and she took one look at it and said “Oh yeah sure that’s a leather burnisher, you use it to close the pores of leather and work oil into the hide to make it waterproof. Mine looks just the same.” 

“Wait you’re still using the exact same fucking thing 50,000 years later???”

“Well, yeah. We’ve tried other things. Metal scratches up and damages the hide. Wood splinters and wears out. Bone lasts forever and gives the best polish. There are new, cheaper plastic ones, but they crack and break after a couple years. A bone polisher is nearly indestructible, and only gets better with age. The more you use a bone polisher the better it works.”

It’s just. 

50,000 years. 50,000. And over that huge arc of time, we’ve been quietly using the exact same thing, unchanged, because we simply haven’t found anything better to do the job. 

[sacriou]

Magoboyo!! My favorite character- my bias definitely gets in the way of my work… unlike a good amount of the others I have a few tidbits of gijinka lore if anyone is interested!!

-For starters the cat hes based off of is a Norwegian forest cat! They are absolutely huge.

-Magolor started off actually as a type of selkie- where if he were to remove his cloak he would no longer keep a humanoid form! (A concept I HAVENT completely dropped but I’m not sure what else to do with it)

-his cloak/cape is made of a much thicker heavier material! This helps keep him grounded easier when traveling and also in areas pf varrying gravities during his travels. His hood is thicker so he can protect his hears! (They can be sensitive to sounds)

-speaking of sounds he’s put up with a lot- I imagine outside of tinkering and engineering he also picked up blacksmithing around the time of Kirby clash deluxe! (I like to imagine he makes all the items himself- he needed a hobby to keep him busy since he’s a workaholic)

-the little apron is totally optional on this design, mostly added for the blacksmithing tid bit

-the little pouches he carry’s around have spare tools- I imagine he’s constantly working on multiple projects and constantly misplaces his things (also convenient for on the go fixes)

-this loser is kind of a hermit- if it wasn’t for him having such a profitable opportunity as a shop keeper he’d go out even less- he has all his projects kept in the lor and is constantly busy tinkering and inventing if he’s feeling up to it! He smells like oil.

- magolor is from halcandra and of course the temperatures there are very extreme- but his range of tolerance is slowly adjusting to the much cooler temperatures of pop star (and space). Usually on his home planet he wouldn’t wear the cloak and cape and gloves, maybe a sleeveless shirt instead of his usual top? But the rest is the same

-speaking of his clothes his gloves aren’t just to keep him warm- they also double as work gloves! He can handle hotter temperatures but when he’s smithing or soldiering he’d rather not burn his finger. (He can totally handle it- it won’t hurt him as bad as say if a human or whatever held molten metal, but it would leave him with an annoying burn that would get in the way of his work) also protects him from blisters and cuts from the tools he uses

- this is the part when I talk about him eating the rocks LMAO- my thought process was this- halcandras extreme landscape is totally incapable for hosting much flora- not enough to feed a whole population anyways- so what else is there to eat besides a meat based diet? (He’s still mostly carnivorous I think) well lord of intense heat and pressure is the perfect environment for rich gems and minerals to form! He’s an alien species anyways- imagine if the gems were formed at a much faster rate due to the extreme environment and so their structure is much weaker and thinner (think graphite), meaning they could break apart much easier. Say magolor had a digestive system that could handle minerals in this form it would be another source of nutrients (it’s far fetched as hell but the idea of pebble boy chomping on a rock makes me laugh)

- speaking of the gem apples being his food- when he found out how scarce gems were on pop star due to how they didn’t form as fast or as often, he figured what the hell and started a buissness from it! (He got a new hobby and a source of income- more money to fund his projects)

-speaking of his projects again his knowledge in the maths and sciences is beyond impressive- not to mention whatever his studies of the ancients brings him. He’s actually well awuanted with Susie too- she actually commissions him for some projects since his engineering abilities are so astounding and his research is beyond valuable to her (this comes at a heft cost at her end but she’s had to accept the fact that magolor dosent work for cheap). Also his knowledge and experience with the lor and ancient technology is a whole other asset

- I’m rambling ever more lol! Magolor has a berry strong bond with the lor- she has a lot of respect to him for all he does to keep her up and running and bringing her back from essential being shut down, magolor also has lots of respect for the lor star cutter and all she is-

-I imagine their relationship is the lor is kinda like a babysitter or guardian- but also in a casual way? Like they bicker or argue (yes he will argue with a boat- she dosent have a voice or anything but actions speak louder than words here) but not out of like spite or anything! Just friendly banter- or like maybe the lor would shut off his computer when it gets too late and he needs rest, to which he would jump and fuss but got the message to just rest up (don’t worry his files were fine she just shut off the screen lmao)

-yes she also locked him out every so often when he avoids doing something and won’t let him back in until he does it (he’s over dramatic about it but eventually goes out and does it)

Congrats THATS the whole info dump rn- I probably have more but I’m not bothered to fix this up yet- I have more on my Insta that’s more thought out but this is just for now kinda silly stuff

[lunaverseimagine]

Whole

Summary: Y/n comes out to their best friend Fred as aroace.

Warnings: None

Word count: 1.3k

The frosted grass crunched under your boots with every step you took towards the lake. You rubbed your gloved hands together and suppressed a shiver. You’d normally be sat by the warmth of the fire in this weather, but lately things had been weighing on your mind and you needed a walk to clear your head. You spotted Fred and Angelina leaning against a tree and holding hands. As you approached, the sound of their laughter reached your ears. You smiled at your best friend’s happiness. Fred had never looked more content than when he was with her, and you loved Angelina for giving him that.

Fred’s eyes caught yours across the courtyard and he waved at you with a grin.

“Y/n! Out in this weather? I suppose there are flying merpeople now too.” Angelina gave him a light-hearted shove and called you over. You trod carefully, not wanting to slip down the bank, and said to Fred, “watch your mouth or I might just set you on fire to warm me up.” 

“Is that so?” he jested, and summoned a gust of wind which knocked your feet from under you, causing you to land on your backside and slide the rest of the way down the grassy slope. The three of you were laughing as you pushed yourself to your feet, only to tackle Fred onto the grass. When he looked up at you with a pout from his position on the ground, you simply said,

“I don’t want to be the only one with a wet butt,” before starting up a conversation with Angelina about her potions homework. While you were chatting about the best way to crush bat fangs, you noticed Fred giving you a quizzical glance. He was more perceptive than most people gave him credit for, especially his professors, and he knew that if you were out for a walk at this time of year then something was bothering you. He also seemed to realise that you didn’t want to discuss it at the moment, so instead he chipped in to your discussion with the helpful suggestion of chewing the bat fangs and spitting them into the cauldron.

~*~

In the Great Hall that evening, as you were eating your second helping of cottage pie, a handsome Ravenclaw boy shuffled up to the seat opposite you. He was in some of your classes but however hard you tried, you couldn’t recall his name. He was glancing around and hopping from foot to foot, as though he wanted to sit down but didn’t know if he should. You gave him an encouraging smile, wondering why he was so jittery. He tentatively sat on the seat, as though it might grow fangs and bite him. Fred looked at him and said “alright mate?”. The boy nodded while staring at the table in front of him. Fred’s eyes flicked from him to you, then shared a knowing look with Angelina before they both moved to a different spot on the table. You stared at them in confusion, wondering why they’d purposely left you alone with a boy you only vaguely knew. 

The Ravenclaw gently cleared his throat, and mumbled more to the table than to you, “would you like to go on a date with me y/n?”

You felt your heart race, but not at excitement of being asked out. You played with a loose tag of skin on your thumb, trying to figure out a suitable response. Eventually, after so long the boy looked ready to leave without an answer, you said “I’m really flattered but no, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok.” He replied, standing up from his seat with downcast eyes and a slump to his shoulders that made you think it wasn’t ok at all. You weren’t sure why, but you felt the need to hastily add, “it’s not you. I’m just… I have feelings for someone else.”

He nodded, accepting your excuse, and slouched back to his table.

~*~

That night, you and Fred were sitting on the sofa in the common room, your legs on his lap as you read a book and he studied one of his new inventions. You loved these moments, when most students had gone to bed, and you could just exist in each other’s company. Things had gotten easier since Fred started seeing Angelina. You no longer felt that there was an expectation for you and Fred to start dating just because you were close. You loved him as a friend, and that was it.

You started to feel Fred’s eyes on you so you turned your focus from your book to him.

“What is it?”

He started wiggling his eyebrows. “So…?” You weren’t sure what he was referring to, and your expression obviously conveyed this because he clarified, “you and Peter?” You recognised Peter as the Ravenclaw’s name from dinner. You shrugged at Fred.

“He asked me out, I wasn’t interested, and I told him so.” You suddenly felt yourself being defensive, even though Fred had done nothing wrong.

“He was cute though, why didn’t you give him a chance?” You thought about how to answer the question but before you could, Fred added “Is there someone else? There is isn’t there. I bet they’re on the Quidditch team. People can’t resist us athletes.” To emphasise his point, he flexed his bicep, and you rolled your eyes.

“Well, that’s what I told him.” You started fiddling with the pages of your book.

“But..?” Fred prompted.

“But there’s not.”

Fred looked a bit surprised, but he regained his composure as he said, “so, why did you say no?” His eyes widened. “Are you into girls? Because it’s totally awesome if you are.”

You let out a breathy chuckle but shook your head, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, what is it then?” When you stayed silent, he added, “is this why you went on a walk this morning? Is this what was weighing on that pretty mind of yours?” You gave him a brief smile and nodded, moving your legs from his lap so you could sit facing him. 

You met his eyes as you said, “Fred, I’m not attracted to anyone. I never have been. Romantically or… physically.” You cleared your throat, but Fred just sat looking intently at you. “And… I  don’t think I ever will be.”

Fred nodded slowly, absorbing this information. “How do you- how do you know? That you’ll never experience the attraction, I mean.”

This was a question you’d expected, and had asked yourself many times while you figured out this part of your identity. 

“Are you attracted to men, Fred?”

He shook his head.

“And do you think you’ll ever be attracted to a man?” Realisation dawned in his features as he got what you were alluding to. You can be certain about a lack of attraction in the same way that you can be certain about its presence, although you’ll admit the former normally takes a while longer to figure out.

“Point well made, y/n. So this means you’re not straight, or gay, or anything else?”

You let out a small chuckle.

“Nope. There is a word for it- well, there’s two actually. Aromantic and asexual. Or aroace for short.”

Fred put a hand on your knee and grinned at you.

“Well y/n, aroace sounds awesome, and I love you. Exactly as you are.” You leaned to forward to grip him in a tight embrace as you felt your eyes welling with tears. You hadn’t realised how worried you were about his reaction until he responded and your gut flooded with relief. He didn’t think you were broken. He didn’t think you weren’t whole. 

You are whole and you are loved, exactly as you are.

End

Thank you so much for reading. These past few months I’ve been figuring out that I’m aroace, and I feel like there’s such a lack of representation. That being said, I highly recommend Loveless by Alice Osman for an awesome aroace main character figuring out her sexuality. Remember, you are valid and you are whole <3 If you liked this fic please like/comment/reblog, it’s super encouraging.

For more of my work, check out my masterlist :3

[hexusproductions]

Smaugust 2022, Day 29 - Lemon Drops

Characters: Jasper Bickers, Dion Stirling

Prompt list: Found here

Lemon Drops - I personally love sour candy. Lemon is the most common flavour for this kind of treat, and I love the taste of it. Although not usually the most popular taste, it’s always interesting when that aversion turns into deliberately seeking out those flavours to eat.

“You’re going to love what I’ve built for you.” Jasper promised. He laid out a mat of gadgets and gizmos, all of them clanking against each other as they were spread across the table’s surface. Dion eyed Jasper and the assortment with obvious caution.

“Are you sure these are safe?” Was the first question out of Dion’s mouth.

“Oh sure, sure!” Jasper assured him. Jasper paused for a moment, then added, “Probably.” Dion grimaced as Jasper made some final adjustments and tests to the gadgets, sticking his hand into a metal-covered glove, looking down the scope of something that Dion didn’t think was supposed to be a gun before placing it back.

Dion didn’t doubt Jasper’s skills, per se. He had been highly recommended by Oz, Dion’s boyfriend, when it came to inventing new technology to help in the field. He trusted Oz without question, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about Jasper’s help blowing up in his face, figuratively or literally.

Jasper was buzzing with excitement as he gestured in front of him, indicating for Dion to ‘have at it’.

“Alright. First we have these beauties.” He held up a rectangular device, along with a belt that contained a row of blunt darts, “These are like homing beacons. I thought of them because of your power - you can orbit things around yourself, right? So I thought of how moons orbit planets, or satellites. You could put something in that orbit and send it flying at a target! That’s what these are for. Hit something or somebody with one of the darts, and you’ll be able to track them down.” Throughout the long and messy explanation, Dion stared. It had been a little difficult to keep track, but he had managed to follow along. But he didn’t think there was an appropriate place to interrupt; even after a few seconds of silence, Jasper added more, speaking as if he had forgotten to say it at the start. “Oh! And if you’re worried about running out of darts, don’t be! They’ll home in on this box and come right back after successfully hitting.”

“That’s great, but…” Dion spoke up. Jasper looked at him, insect-like eyes wide and unblinking. Dion hesitated under Jasper’s gaze, but then rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to laugh off his next sentence. “I don’t really have great control over my powers yet. I don’t think I can catapult things on command.” Jasper blinked, once, twice, three times.

���Oh.” He finally said. Dion cringed.

“Yeah.”

“That’s okay!” Jasper reassured him. He placed the device and belt back onto the mat, setting it aside. He rifled through the gadgets again, this time placing a pair of heavy boots before Dion. “How do you feel about jet boots? They’re very safe, once you learn how to steer.”

“How long does that take?”

“Maybe a week?” Jasper didn’t sound completely sure of that answer. Dion looked around to the large, bee-like wings attached to Jasper’s back. He had a feeling Jasper had more of an advantage during testing when it came to steering in mid-air.

“Uh, I think we should try something else.” Dion decided. Jasper frowned but shrugged, putting the boots aside as well. Jasper scratched his head, looking over his creations and trying to find a better fit for Dion’s needs. Dion was similarly contemplative; he didn’t want Jasper to think he didn’t like the ideas, but he didn’t want something dangerous. He was already putting so much of his energy into trying to keep his powers stable.

“Well…” Jasper said after another long pause. Dion looked at him. When Jasper didn’t speak further, Dion nudged him.

“What?” He asked. Jasper jumped.

“Right.” Jasper seemed to remember he had been speaking, and he reached over and placed a thick, open ring before Dion. “Oz mentioned something about vertigo attacks. It’s still a prototype, but I borrowed the schematics for your costume and made a new version of the headpiece. In theory it should help balance your inner ear and lower the severity of the attacks.” Dion’s face fell slack with surprise and he took a closer look at the ring sitting on the table. It really did resemble his old headpiece; almost a full circle, except for about a quarter missing at the front. The open ends were pointed upwards. He’d kept an astronaut theme for his costume, to match the costume his fully-fledged-superhero father wore, but it could be claimed the headpiece resembled a halo, a crown, or perhaps a pair of horns. The only difference to the design was the backing; it was thicker and spread further around, looking like it hooked around Dion’s ears.

“This’ll help with the dizziness?” Dion asked quietly.

“In theory.” Jasper repeated. Dion picked up the ring, feeling the weight in his hands, running his fingers over the surface. Jasper was watching him, his own hands reaching for another device, expecting the headpiece to be refused as well. Dion beamed.

“This is perfect. Thank you.”

Jasper blinked again, and then smiled, mirroring Dion’s glee.

“You’re welcome.”

[chiliiscereal]

Hamato Sirani: Lou Jitsu

Month 5

One thing the brothers learned quickly was that Sirani held a strong grudge for a small toddler. The night when they argued she didn't sneak over to Donnies bed so he'd read to her. She didn't even try to sneak into his bed after the lights were supposed to be out. She didn't want to learn about dinosaurs or new words or whatever Donnie offered. 

  He was surprised when he woke up the next morning and she wasn't curled into his side. 

   She even held a grudge against Raph and Leo. 

With Raph, she wouldn't let him hold her while he read her stories. She wouldn't let him help her grab anything from high places either. It didn't matter if it was her tiger that Splinter had put out of her reach when she refused to eat the green foods on her plate, she wouldn't let him help. 

  With Leo, she didn't watch his magic shows. She didn't watch them, she didn't laugh at them, and she wasn't amazed at them. She didn't want to watch any shows with him or watch him reenact a scene from a movie.

  The only one she didn't treat differently was Mikey. 

  Whenever Leo asked if she wanted to watch him do a trick on the skateboard she turned her head, grabbed the crayons Mikey let her borrow, and went off to find her orange masked brother. 

  They would draw together for hours (Splinter made sure it was only on paper). 

  Their rat dad found some stickers and that was probably the worst thing he could have given the two. Stickers appeared on Mikeys shell, their fridge, the walls, even the ceiling. 

Lucky for the other four living in the sewers, the grudge phase was over soon. 

Well, on the outside anyway.

Her older brothers words may have been forgotten after a month, but the meaning behind it wasn't. 

She wanted to be just like them.

She wanted to run and play at their sides. 

So she pushed herself.

She shouldn't need them to help her. 

She could be independent. 

With help from Mikey, of course. 

With his assistance she got amazing at standing and walking. 

He'd hold her hands as she took shaky steps forward. He'd cheer her on whenever she tried by herself. He proudly showed her skills off to Splinter and their older brothers once she got better at it. 

  Splinter saw how the two were able to help each other and moved Sirani into Mikeys room. 

Donnie and Leo now had to share, much to their dismay.

But things were going good for the younger two. 

Sirani followed Mikey everywhere he went. 

And he loved it. 

Wherever he walked, she was right behind him.

Whatever he did, she was doing it to. 

When some time after the fight had passed, they found a new normal. 

Sure, she didn't read with Donnie every night, but now she watched him work on his latest invention: his battleshell. She didn't know why he was making it but it was his first project that took longer than a week. It had to be important. 

   She didn't watch Leo's magic shows but now they both were up late at night, searching the kitchen for late night snacks. It didn't start out as a tradition but when they'd both snuck in at the same time every night it just became a habit.

  She didn't let Raph read to her anymore, but they both woke up on early Saturday mornings to watch Lou Jitsu movies together. She would sit right in his lap and watch the screen intently. 

  That first day she saw a Lou Jitsu movie was a day she'd never forget.

Not just because it was one of her brothers favorite films (yes all of them) but because it was the first day she'd been exposed to humans like her. 

Leo, Donnie, Splinter, and Mikey were all up by the time they turned it on. 

She sat in Raph's lap, eyes wide the moment the actor came on screen. 

Her older brother noticed immediately and chuckled. "He's a human! Like you!" 

  She frowned, mismatched eyes never leaving Lou Jitsu. 

Raph grabbed her hand gently and held it up to the screen. "See? He has five fingers and so do you!" 

She counted slowly, double checking his math. 

He was right. 

She looked to where Splinter sat in his chair and counted his fingers as well. Surely she couldn't be that different than everyone...

He had five as well. 

maybe she wasn't the only different one.

"Dad!" She pointed out and looked up at her big brother. 

 "Yeah, but dad's still a rat." He pointed out. "You're a human." 

Splinter didn't know if he should be offended by the phrasing but he chose to ignore it and continue to listen in. 

The young children didn't realize he was listening though. They just kept talking. 

"He's a human like you!" Leo grinned, skooching closer. "Except he can kick butt!"

"Yeah! Lot's of butt!" Mikey added. 

Leo gasped as he gained a sudden and probably terrible idea. "I've got an idea! We turn Sirani," he showcased her with his waving hands, "into another Lou Jitsu! We teach her to fight, and kick butt, and be cool!" He punched the air excitedly. 

  Mikey cheered excitedly. "YES!" 

Donnie turned his attention away from the tv skeptically. "In order to make her a lou jitsu, we'd need to actually be able to fight." 

  As if on cue, the four boys turned to their dad. 

Sirani followed their actions.

If they were doing it then she should be doing it to. 

He blinked in surprise, his mind still on their previous conversation about Sirani being like Lou Jitsu. "What?" 

 "Dad we wanna fight!" Leo stood up quickly. 

"Yeah!" Mikey copied him immediately. 

Sirani leaned out of Raph's arms to copy Mikey but Raph caught her before she could fall. 

"I too would like to learn." Donnie added as he also stood. 

"We could be super heroes!" Leo shouted, his mind exploding itself. "Or ninjas!" 

   "Super heros are cooler than ninjas." His purple masked brother commented. 

  "No, ninjas!" 

  "Heros!"

  "NINJAS!"

  "HEROS!" 

 Splinter couldn't help but feel proud. They wanted to be ninjas, just like the Hamato Clan. Well, might as well start early, right? His Grandpa taught him at a young age so he should do the same. 

  "Well, lucky for you," he stood from his chair with a grunt, "I happen to know a little about being a ninja." 

This caused the boys to jump around in excitement. 

  Sirani ignored them though. 

She watched the screen still, her brain trying to wrap itself around the idea that she wasn't like her siblings. Instead of being like them, the ones she was around every day, she was like this strange man she'd never met once in her life.

How could that be?

She frowned and held up her hand to the tv, comparing it to the man seemingly inside it. 

His gloved hands also contained ten fingers in total. 

Just like hers. 

But... she knew nothing about him!

Nothing at all!

He wasn't the one who was there for her when she got scared or sad!

He wasn't anything to her!

Splinter sighed. The boys seriously needed to stop bringing up her differences. If he wasn't careful, it could cause some real problems in the future. He didn't want her growing up seeing herself as some sort of outcast from her own home. 

  he scooped her up quickly. Sure, he was happy she had taken an interest in Lou Jitsu, but she needed to get away from the tv. 

  "No!" She protested, reaching for the screen. 

  "Hush, child, you can watch the boys first day of training!" He offered. A distraction would be good. Yes, this was good. 

He could do this right.

He was once a human child. 

How hard could it be?

@amirulamani @dakotafinely

[pregnant-piggy]

A little elf

Ron Weasley x reader

This is part of All I want for Christmas is fanfiction

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: pregnancy, slight mention of abortion

A/N: I’m back with a pregnancy-fic (gotta be true to my url in some way). This fic is all support and Ron’s soft and protective side

As the skies grew more pale outside, the rain and wind of the autumn made place for the cold and ice of the winter. Grass turned dry and died out, leafs had fallen of the trees and froze overnight. Icicles hung from the corners of buildings if it had frozen and the roads were getting slippery.

The shops had taken out their Christmas decorations and red and green adorned the streets. Fairy lights had been hung in trees and gardens flickered at night with colours shows in the shape of reindeers and fat Santa’s. At some houses Christmas trees were already standing in living rooms and cringe texts hung behind windows. Children dressed as angels went past streets, singing Christmas carols to whoever passed.

Normally you loved to walk outside at night and look at all the decorations. Countless of rounds you had made around the block with Ron every December. You knew which houses did what for Christmas, which ones were the first to put up the tree and which families always forgot and then put up the lights on Christmas Eve.

However, tonight none of the decorations were noticed by you as you walked home. With your hands in gloves in your pockets and your scarf tightly around your neck, you walked as slow and fast as possible; wanting to get home as fast as possible yet not wanting to get there at all.

Faint carols reached your ears as you turned around the corner to the street of your house. Halfway on the street stood the choir you hadn’t seen yet this December. You had gotten to know the leader a few years ago and feared you wouldn’t get out of a conversation when you walked by.

You took a halt in front of the choir and listened to the children together with some of your neighbours. Mrs and Mr Sanchez, the couple that lived next door, stood listening happily with their arms around each other. You watched them for a while as the choir sang ‘O Holy Night’.  

And indeed as you had thought, the leader of the choir, Francis, walked over to you after she had told the children to continue to sing.

‘Hey, y/n, long time no see!’ Francis happily said.

‘Hello, Francis,’ you nodded. You weren’t exactly feeling as ‘jolly’ as one might be in such a scene, but you conjured a smile on your face for the woman in front of you. ‘How are you?’

‘Busy, busy, busy,’ Francis said. ‘We are booked full for December. I don’t think I have a day off. But that doesn’t matter!’ she quickly added. ‘I enjoy working with these children so much. I believe they truly are my Christmas miracle!’

A bit more genuine smile came to your face. Francis was someone who was grateful for everything that was going on in her life. She enjoyed every second of her life and made sure she did plenty of things that she could look back at when she was old and grey and stuck in a chair at a retirement home. You loved to listen to Francis’ enthusiasm. Though you didn’t see her very often, because she was indeed always busy, the times you did see her you always were happy.

‘Is Ron not here? You usually come together,’ Francis noticed and the smile fell off your face.

‘He was busy,’ you lied, putting the fake smile back on your lips. You glanced around. ‘Are you coming back here?’ you asked, hoping to change the subject.

‘One more time, on Christmas Eve,’ Francis said.

‘I’ll make sure to come and bring you some snacks.’

‘They would love that,’ Francis sighed. One of the children signed for her and she had to leave you alone. ‘I’ll talk to you soon, y/n.’

‘See you soon.’ Francis went back to the choir and you turned around and walked to your house.

The light in the kitchen was on and a yellowish glow shone on the bare bushes in your little front yard. In the spring and summer they would be full with flowers and green leafs, but in the autumn and winter they lost their beauty.

Taking a deep breath you put your key in the lock and opened the door. The hall was dark and the door to the kitchen closed, only a stripe of light coming from the crack between the door and the floor. When you closed the front door behind you and put on the light, something dropped in the kitchen and a moment later the door was opened to reveal Ron.

He was wearing the apron you had gotten from your great aunt, one with little flowers and bees. His cheeks were red and there was a smudge of flour on one of them. The red locks that needed a haircut, though you actually liked it better like this, were standing in all ways, like it looked when he woke from a rough night. On his lips played a relaxed smile, that soon dropped as he noticed your tense state and worried eyes.

‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ he asked and quickly walked over to you to help you take of your coat.

While he turned around to the coat rack, you answered. ‘I’m pregnant.’

Ron dropped your coat on the floor and he spun around. His eyes were big and his jaw dropped. He stared at you for a second, before a big grin formed on his face.

‘That’s amazing! You’re pregnant? We’re gonna have a baby?’

‘No, it’s not! We aren’t prepared! There’s no room in our lives for a baby! What about our jobs? And our friends? We can’t just come over with a baby! Our lives would change so much!’

Ron took your hands and tried to look you in the eye, but you kept your gaze at the ground. He pulled you in an embrace and a tear escaped your eye. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back and his lips were pressed against the top of your head.

Ron brought you to the kitchen and sat you down on a chair. He turned the stove off and gave you a glass of water before he took place opposite of you. He waited until you had drank the water and then took your hand over the table, forcing you to look him in the eye.

‘Listen, I am not forcing you to have this baby. It is your body and your decision and I am no one to change that. But I also want you to realise that this could be a good thing. Can you imagine how our lives would be if we had a little one running around? A happy baby, part you, part me. And it won’t be so difficult with jobs, you could even just keep yours the way it is now if you want. I won’t mind working less, I actually was thinking of already doing so. It is scary, but we will make it work.’

Ron squeezed your hand and you chuckled softly while the tears were streaming down your face. Ron got up from his chair and sat down in his knees in front of you. He wiped away the tears from your face and pressed a kiss to both your hands.

‘I am not asking you to make a decision right now, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘But just think about it. I will be happy with whatever you decide, as long as I am with you.’

You smiled tilting your head as you watched Ron get up and continue with dinner. His words had put your mind to work, but you pushed it aside for now, feeling that your emotions would influence the decision.

For the rest of the evening you talked with Ron about other things. You told him about Francis and the choir and he talked about his work and the new invention George had made. Of course you couldn’t just forget you were pregnant, but you just didn’t pay much attention to it and you noticed neither did Ron.

A part of you felt guilty for the burden you had placed on his shoulders. He had seemed so excited when you told him you were pregnant and the look on his face when you told him that you weren’t ready was still fresh in your mind.

Ron had sensed how you were feeling, like he always could. At night as you lied in the dark in bed, his hand took yours and he gave a little squeeze.

‘Don’t feel guilty, sweets,’ he said. ‘I am happy with or without a baby. Really. I support you whatever you decide.’

‘Thank you,’ you said with a hoarse voice. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you more.’

}|}{|}{|{

For a few days you and Ron didn’t talk about it. You both just went your normal ways, doing what you normally did. But that didn’t mean that you didn’t think about it. In contrary, it was all you could think about. You tried not to show it too much to Ron, but you knew he noticed. He was a little more gentle towards you, making sure there wasn’t anything to worry about at home or making sure you were comfortable.

Those days you barely slept. You ate little and felt nauseous with every smell. You were always cold, but whenever you put on a jumper you were hot. Your lips were cracked and your eyes dull. Your skin was breaking out and with every hand that you brushed through you hair, you pulled along hairs.

On the fourth day of all this, you had called in sick from work. After you had reassured Ron that you would be fine on your own and that he could just go to work, you were alone for the first time in a week.

Your plan was to just stay in bed all day, but an hour or so after Ron left you got antsy and wanted to do something. Your bed was uncomfortable and warm and you couldn’t lie in it for another second anymore. So you shuffled downstairs in a pair or leggings and one of Ron’s jumpers. You made some breakfast for yourself and after that sat in the living room staring at the TV for a while.

If you had watched TV the whole time or had fallen asleep, you didn’t know, but around lunch time you startled awake. You turned off the TV and decided to go for a walk.

It was snowing outside and the world glistened with little crystals. It wasn’t so cold that the streets were slippery; the snowflakes only lied on the ground for a second before they melted. Soon your hair was wet from the snow and your cheeks cold, but you didn’t mind. The cold, fresh air did you good.

In the park close to your house you sat down on a bench and watched the people around you. There was an elderly couple walking arm in arm with each other. Two businessmen sat on a bench not far from you. They were talking about something you didn’t understand and you frankly didn’t care about.

The park was fairly empty for the time of the day. Normally it was full of people that would take a little stroll at lunch time, especially in the holiday month. But today it was empty and you liked it so.

You sat on the bench for a while, just staring ahead of you, until you were started by a woman with a stroller.

‘Can I sit here?’ she asked and you nodded at her. The woman flashed you a smile and sat down next to you, turning the stroller around so the child in it was facing whom you assumed to be their mother.

You paid little attention to the people next to you. Or at least you tried to. The mother had started to talk to the baby while giving them little bites from a piece of bread. The baby giggled when the woman started to make funny faces and you couldn’t help but smile.

The baby looked at you, when their mother turned to take something from her bag, and made grabbing hands to you. You chuckled and stuck out your tongue to the child. They copied you and chirred with excitement.

‘She seems to like you. Usually she’s not like that with strangers,’ the woman said when she turned back. ‘Do you have kids?’

‘Uh, no…’ you said and flashed the woman a quick smile.

‘I’m not judging you!’ the mother said quickly. ‘It’s just usually mothers who make her feel comfortable. Maybe you just have a special talent.’

You laughed and shook your head. ‘No, I don’t think that is it.’

‘Well, at least you made her happy,’ the woman said while she got up. ‘It was nice to meet you.’

‘You too,’ you said and smiled at the mother and waved at the baby. You watched them walk away and then got up yourself. With renewed confidence you walked home and for the first time since you had heard that you were pregnant, you felt happy.

}|}{|}{|{

That evening you had taken a hot bath, soaking off all the negativity you had been holding for the past days. You were standing in front of the mirror in your underwear and stared at your belly. Your finger was tracing your skin lightly, as if you were tickling the baby that was growing inside of you.

‘Sweets? Where are you?’ Ron yelled from downstairs as soon as the door had shut behind him.

‘Up here,’ you said with a distant voice as you kept staring at your mirror image.

Loud and fast footsteps were heard on the stairs and Ron came bursting into the bedroom. Worry stood on his face and he was panting lightly. You looked up confused to him.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked and the anxiety left his face as you nodded. ‘Why are you standing there?’

You shrugged as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your hand had dropped from your stomach and was now hanging along your body. Ron took of his coat and stood behind you. He rested his cold hands on your shoulders and you hissed.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he muttered but when he tried to take his hands away you kept them there.

You looked at Ron through the mirror and smiled at him. ‘I made a decision.’

Ron froze and you turned around so you could look at him. He looked at you with big eyes and you took his hands, placing them around your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

‘We’re having a baby,’ you whispered softly.

Ron stared and after a few seconds swallowed. ‘We’re having a baby?’

You nodded and giggled at Ron’s anxious face. He started to smile and pulled you close against his chest. His hands on your back were cold and his cheek in your neck too, but you held onto him. For minutes you stood like that, until Ron turned you back to the mirror and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his hands on your lower-stomach. His touch sent shivers down your spine and sparkles through your veins.

‘We’re gonna be parents,’ you said.

‘We’re gonna be the best parents,’ Ron said.

- - - - - -

Taglist:

General HP: @kitkatkl @girllety @yuptha-tsme @sleep-i-ness @iamak20 @thefuturelawyer @weasleydream @missmulti @deafgirltingz @moonstarrnghtsky @mytreec @lilulo-12fanfiction @emmaloo21 @kashishwrites @ananad1 @figlia--della--luna @kylosleftbuttcheek @mrs-malfoy-always @thefandomplace @magicwithaknife @mt2413 @aesthetically-hailey @superbturtlemakerathlete @the-natureofme @missswriter

MASTERLIST

[crispyjenkins]

I dare you to write an Ani5 fix-it fic. I will not be taking criticism and will die on the hill that this is the most powerful ship and could’ve saved the entire clone wars. Bonus points if it features the ship Mace Windu/headaches (bc anakin is a walking mess of shatterpoints and lives to annoy Mace). Codywan to help knock some sense into anakin would also be top tier. I LOVE YOU ZEPH’BUIR

(of course i can’t do a whole fix-it in a quick prompt answer, but i think i’ve set it up for a far happier ending than in canon! support communication and education in relationships (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and also adhd clones.

fives might be the most i’ve ever struggled with a character (‘cept maybe ahsoka....) so it took a little while to figure out how to write this scene in a way i liked. also, had to go and watch fives clips to try and get my autism brain working, and BOY HOWDY do i actually hate dbb’s take on the clones, especially the accent but everything else too. their character designs make me want to cry. so i’m begging, for me, to imagine this fives like this especially because then we get Tol Anakin and a Smol Clone BF and i think that is a seriously underutilised dynamic.

thank you for the prompt, ad, and for cursing me with this ship in the first place. someday i’ll get around to actually writing them as the battle husbands they are 🧡)

Alt+R to quick reblog on desktop, Hold the reblog symbol to quick reblog on mobile

  Echo's always been good with programming, but Fives is better with the actual building. He's not any good with inventing, maybe, but putting things together? Opening them up and knowing immediately what's wrong? Fives would even say he enjoys it — and being able to talk shop with Skywalker like they're nobody mechanics from the Outer Rim instead of General and Soldier makes the long hyperjumps between missions actually bearable. 

  How that led to him sitting in a rarely used hallway on the Resolute with Skywalker ("Anakin," he keeps insisting with a smile), both leant over a mouse droid in pieces on a drop cloth, Fives isn't really sure. It probably had something to do with Skywalker's excited bounce when he'd come to ask if Fives wanted to help him, the sparkle in his eye reminding Fives just how young the both of them are. How, technically, he's older than Anakin.

  Because, yeah, he is Anakin, not Skywalker, when they're like this. With his growing knight cut a curly untamed cloud around his ears, grease smeared on the underside of his jaw, with Fives stripped down to his blacks from the waist up, with even his blasters set on the floor next to them. 

  With it quickly becoming clear that Anakin doesn't actually need help to rewire the mouse droid, but had asked for Fives to join him anyways.

  They've been at it for a few hours now, their jokes winding down to companionable quiet as they both work on separate parts of the droid. It honestly might have been easier to start from a scrap droid than try to rewire this one correctly, but it's easy work Fives could do blindfolded, and sharing the mutually-focused silence is actually quite nice.

  Anakin is elbow-deep in the outer casing when he finally asks, "Do the clones feel love?"

  And Fives almost gets up and walks away. He knows not every battalion ended up with a good Jedi, that the 212th and the 501st had been so kriffing lucky to end up with "The Team", but sometimes he forgets. Maybe that's the worst part of it: slow, personal moments like this, Fives forgets he's not natborn and bearer of a face shared with millions. Being around his general makes him forget, and maybe he had taken that for granted until now.

  Or maybe it's for that reason that he hesitates from storming off, because Anakin had been the one to name Alpha, to insist on giving them proper leave, to defend them from anyone who talks down at them even if they're a planetary leader. And Rex had said something, once, about Anakin’s brain working in either/ors, being hardwired in some way to only see in black and white and believing that if you're one thing, you can't be another. That what Anakin says isn't always what he means.

  So instead, he asks, "What kind of love are we talkin'?"

  Anakin refuses to raise his head, and Fives can almost see him stressing about how to phrase this.  "Y'know, grand romance and stuff. One-and-onlys and holodrama romcom propaganda and imagining growing old together."

  "'Not quite sure what you're asking, sir." He takes a deep breath. "The short answer is yes, we can and do feel that, but the long answer is I can't speak for every brother, and I would not want to. Some of us don't feel that." Shrugging, he passes Anakin a socket wrench before he can ask for it. "But it's not because we can't, not because of the longnecks. We're bred to be obedient, sir, not emotionless."

  Quiet settles over them again while Anakin processes this, his mouth twisted rather horribly. Fives starts to think he would do a whole awful lot to turn that frown back into a haughty smile. 

  "What do you really want to ask, General?"

  "I'm married to Senator Amidala."

  Now, everyone with eyes knows that. Maybe Torrent knows even better, when they've been covering for their general for over a year now, and clearly the Jedi just aren't doing anything about it — but Fives also knows Anakin has never actually told anyone about this, not even General Kenobi. Rex says Anakin still thinks they've been discreet.

  "If I may be blunt, sir, this is not news."

  And Anakin actually laughs at that, shaking his head as he tosses down his tools to stare at the opposite wall instead. Fives watches his gaze go distant, somewhere far away from the Resolute lost in the middle of space. “I’ve loved her since I was nine years old, Fives. I loved her through not seeing her for a decade, through her assassination attempts and the First Battle of Geonosis and becoming a knight, and I...”

  Fives sighs once. “No one said you had to stay in love, sir.”

  “But that’s just it,” he groans. “I’ve never known how to do anything else, how to be anything else. I don’t... know who I am without it.”

  He has to look away from Anakin, then, because he’s seen brothers go stupid for people they meet on campaigns, or for their Jedi, and Fives isn’t nearly as young as some of the shinies out there, but he knows what it looks like, when they leap in without thinking. He lets out a long, slow breath, his eyes falling on the ‘saber at Anakin’s hip. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  Anakin blinks at him, and nods.

  “That’s too young to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Fives raises a brow at his general’s startled expression, which is maybe more amusing (endearing) than it has any business being. “General, you’re barely an adult, just the same as the vode. If my mental timeline is right, you weren’t even twenty standard when you married Amidala, which, frankly, was reckless and unfair on her part.”

  “Padmé would never–”

  “I don’t mean intentionally, sir. The fact of the matter is, no wonder you don’t know who you are without her, because you’ve always had her.” That decade of no contact notwithstanding, considering Anakin didn’t not have her, either. “Senator Amidala knew who and what she was before you, and she’ll know who and what she is without you.”

  “That’s not quite fair,” Anakin grumbles, but his throat is flushed in what Fives hopes is entirely appropriate guilt, or at the very least embarrassment. “It was my idea to get married after Geonosis.”

  Fives snorts. “The idea of a child thrown into war, afraid to lose anything.”

  “You’re being uncharacteristically candid, Fives.”

  “Respectfully, sir, the last thing you need is to be coddled.” His general laughs again, this time good and bright in a way he hasn’t heard before; and then Fives can’t help what he admits next. “We weren’t allowed toys, or anything.”

  Laughter cutting off abruptly, Anakin’s eyes grow haunted instead. There might not be anyone else in the galaxy with quite the same experience as the clones, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t those that understand.

  “Hevy made me and Echo– Well, he said they were mythosaurs like Kal taught us about, but they looked more like sad loth cats. He cut up his own bedsheet to make ‘em, and couldn’t tell the longnecks what he’d done with it, so he just slept on the bare mattress.”

  “Fives...”

  But it’s clear Anakin doesn’t actually know what to say, so Fives pushes on. “Some of Fett’s instructors tried to teach us Mando’a, you know? I think Spar is the only brother that ever got fluent, the rest of us have been making up words and combining them with Basic and Kaminoan and whatever else the Cuy’val Dar spoke that sometimes we don’t even remember what language they are anymore.”

  “I didn’t learn Basic until I was five.” Anakin thunks his head onto the wall behind him with a sigh, the mouse droid forgotten at his feet. “Other padawans always told me I was lucky Master Obi-Wan knew Huttese.” Ahh, kark, his general had been a Hutt salve; at least the spice runners made sure their slaves could communicate with their customers. “I couldn’t read a word of Aurebesh when I first came to the Temple, though to be fair, I couldn’t read anything else, either.”

  “You grow up around other kids?”

  “Yeah, my mom and I lived in the biggest slave slum on Tatooine.”

  Fives doesn’t need to tell him how lucky he was just to have had their own quarters. “I think, sir, that the vode know better than you think, what it’s like always standing on the edge of losing everything.”

  Squeezing his eyes closed, Anakin inhales sharply and clenches his fists over his knees. “What happened? To your mythosaur toys?”

  “One of the longnecks found them while we were in training, ‘threw them out before we got back. I think Hevy was even more upset than we were.”

  The leather glove over his prosthesis creaks as he tightens his grip on his own palms. “Was it easy? To just... forget about them?”

  “Of course not,” Fives snorts and crosses his arms, “we were the equivalent of eight standard at the time, but we honestly didn’t have a choice. As we got a little older, we stopped trying to put meaning in things, because we weren’t allowed things. Our names are our only real possession, even our armor can be taken from us, but we will not, cannot, let anyone take our names.”

  Groaning, Anakin scrubs his hands over his face before pushing himself up to finally look at Fives properly. He still doesn’t speak for a moment, just watching him, then teases flatly, “You’ve been spending too much time with Cody and Obi-Wan, you’re starting to speak in riddles.”

  “They are riddles only to you, sir.” He offers a small smile, and is only slightly disappointed when Anakin doesn’t return it.

  Instead, he lets out a winded breath. “So. You’re saying that it’s not easy to let go of even small things, but we must. And then there are things that we shouldn’t let go of?”

  “Some things aren’t ours to keep.”

  Anakin swallows. “Like Padmé,”

  “Like any person, no matter what sort of love we have for them.”

  Groaning, Anakin pulls his knees back up close and drops his face into his arms. “But I still love her.”

  Knowing that this is not a new problem, that General Kenobi has been trying to teach his general this for as long as they’ve known each other, Fives takes a moment to consider. “You don’t really have to stop loving her.”

  “But you said–”

  “You think I stop loving my brothers when they die?”

  Whether or not it’s healthy to hold onto affections for someone after a romantic relationship is a conversation for another time, Fives decides, and leans over to pick up where Anakin had left off with the droid.

  “General, it sounds to me like you already know all this,” he says, twisting a wire into the grip of his glove to yank it from the motor. “And  that you’re digging your feet in — which is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

  “You sound like Obi-Wan,” he groans, but doesn’t deny it.

  “Hmm, well, at least we’re still just kids.”

  Anakin very slowly looks up from his arms, just enough for Fives to see his wide eyes. “What do you...?”

  “Well, we’ve still got time to learn, don’t we?” Fives raises his eyebrow as he fits the new wire into the motor and starts to close all the panels back up. “I still think about Hevy and Droidbait and Cutup, and honestly, I still think about Echo’s and my mythosaurs. That’s not a bad thing, I don’t think, not even the Jedi would think that’s bad. I’m still angry when my vode don’t get funerals and I honestly hold that against the Chancellor and the Jedi both. But I don’t get to go back to Kamino and take my anger out on the longneck that took our toys, and I’m... working on it, not being so angry with the generals. I’m still angry. But I know the Jedi have about as much say in all of this as we do, and I know burying my brothers won’t bring them back. So I’m working on it.”

  “I... don’t have to be good at it all at once.”

  “Great Maker, General, just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t mean you have to actually be good at absolutely everything from the start. You just have to try, and you still have time to.”

  He looks up and finds Anakin already smiling back. “Fives, I could kiss you.”

  “Considering it sounds like Senator Amidala just divorced you, I think that’s a very bad idea, sir.”

  “Bah, you’re no fun.”

  Fives feigns offense, “This mouse droid we’ve rigged to follow Captain Rex around and scream says differently.”

-

  The night the 501st returns to the Resolute after finally (kriffing finally) leaving Umbara, Fives finds a hand-sewn stuffed mythosaur on his bunk, with a string collar and a dogtag etched with CT-782.

-

Mando’a: Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones vod/e —  “brother/s, comrade/s, sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s” (*in this context, fives is using brothers as gender neutral as well, because you won’t take trans and nb clones even from my cold dead hands*)

[carewyncromwell]

Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, “I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

[another-snape-story]

More in Common Than You Thought

Chapter XX

Nothing remarkable has occurred since that strange incident during the game of Quidditch in the first days of November. Discussion of what had happened died down after a week or so without any constructive conclusion. No one seemed to recall the day when Dark Magic intruded measured life of the Wizarding school ever again. You heartily believed it was just a seeming, and Hogwarts authorities put a careful thought into solving this mystery. The only person who didn’t turn a deaf ear to your concern, the only person who was willing to hear you out, who – same as you – found disregard inappropriate, was Severus. Who in Merlin’s name it might be? Highly responsible and down-to-earth, he kept a watchful eye on one of your colleagues who – you both agreed – behaved oddly. Professor Quirrell.

On top of that, you still couldn’t get over the news you received from your previous employer, and despite of all Snape’s persuasions and convincing arguments that it wasn’t your fault, the thought you might be responsible for the accident popped up in your head every now and then. Snape knew what was weighing over you. He also knew firsthand what it was like being left alone, one on one with nothing but guilt and self-loathing. By no means was he going to let you fall into this destructive abyss of despair. Ready to give you a shoulder every time you were at your lowest, Snape assured you there was nothing worth your nerves and tears.

The two of you were getting closer. You both realized there was no need to know every single detail from your past to understand each other – the essential surfaced in form of little things spoken in relaxed conversations, grain after grain, matching the missing pieces and building a picture of who you actually were.

Snape enjoyed every minute beside you. You filled him with desire to live. Could he ever expect it? Of course, most likely, he was confusing your kindness and friendliness with affection he both craved and feared. For a man who’s never experienced true heartiness, a small gesture of amity might’ve appeared as something bigger than it actually was. Moreover, since causing you pain came across like Snape’s worst nightmare, to keep you unharmed, he convinced himself he had no right to let you too close – he only could destroy lives, and Potter’s son was the living reminder. He got used to sacrificing his life and hope for happiness anyway. Cherishing no pipedreams this cloud-world would last forever, Snape, however, gave in to temptation, too weak to deprive himself of a pleasure to cure his soul by your side even though it was destined to be broken again.

Sullen Potions Professor liked it in your office. Spacious, with high ceilings and nice furnishing, it differed greatly from his own. Variety of plants harmoniously complementing wooden paneling of its walls and numerous bookshelves added vital spirit to the exterior. But it hardly was the setting which made this place so special – the main reason that kept him coming here were certainly you.

The room seemed empty once he stepped inside, but a quick look around sufficed to spot some movement behind the shelving where your place for ‘dirty work’, as you called it, was hidden. Standing with your back turned to the visitor, you surely couldn’t notice him. Headphones on, you smoothly swayed along with the tune, a scalpel in your hand waving jauntily to the rhythm. You easily sank the blade into the carcass of a dissected creature which was now hard to identify and extracted a slimy part of its insides which joined a plenty of a kind in a half-full jar with the same amazingly hideous substance.

Snape leaned against the cupboard – a pawky smirk on his face – marveling the picture. What a wonderful being you were!

“Ahem,” he coughed slightly to catch your attention, but of course, absorbed into the process, you didn’t and couldn’t hear him.

Snape slowly approached you not to scare you too much, although he knew you’d startle either way. The scalpel jolted out of your grip as you flinched, taken aback.

“Never! Never do it again!” with an eye roll, you ripped headphones off.

“How do I do it if you don’t hear me?” he justified himself.

“I don’t know!” you waved your hand. “You’re a wizard after all!” Embarrassed, you felt blood rushing to your face. “Ugh! May I obliviate it from your memory?”

Snape chuckled as he made another step towards you.

“I have so few good moments to recall. Don’t take this one from me,” he smiled softly. “Don’t you mind if I –?” he pointed at the headphones.

You didn’t mind. You knew he wouldn’t report you for using muggle devices, but what happened next struck you dumb. Snape raised the thing to his ear heeding to the sound. The corner of his mouth twitched into his cheek.

“This band helped me through my school years,” he admitted. “The legend of nowadays… That’s a shame we reject everything muggle related – they know how to make really good music.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Never expected you –”

“I’m a half-blood! Of course I do know muggle stuff,” Snape snickered.

Another surprise in a couple of seconds! “I thought you were pure…” you muttered embracing the fact. His life in this House, the House of ‘Elite’, must’ve been a raw deal. Oh, you could tell! You’ve gone through this hell as well.

“Having muggle blood is an advantage,” you stated resolutely. “Those, feeling superior in terms of origin, look so pathetic trying to perceive the purpose of a toaster!”

A laughter rumbled out of Snape’s throat. He couldn’t disagree.

“Tea?” you carelessly shoot your dirty gloves on the working surface and strode past Severus inviting him to make himself comfortable in one of your armchairs.

“Yes, please,” he leisurely followed suit.

“Muggles are cleverer than us, we must admit it,” you served two cups. “They’ve invented so many devices to satisfy their needs of all sorts which we perform with just a wave of a wand. They should be given a credit.”

“Indeed,” Snape watched you with admiration.

“There’s a whole Department in the Ministry that makes monkey work!” you continued vigorously. “Isn’t it better to have an understanding about the world which is so closely intertwined with ours than to ignore it? We could use it for our profit someday!”

“Why wouldn’t you write an article for the Daily Prophet?” Snape reached out for his cup. “I mean it. Many keep this opinion on a tip of a tongue, but have no guts to speak it out.”

“Not sure,” you sighed. “At least not now…”

The way your fingers fidgeted restlessly set the man alert. “What happened?” his face tensed as he fixed his eyes on you.

Denial was pointless. Moreover, you were going to tell him sooner or later – his question just saved you from searching for the right moment. “I’m invited for interrogation.”

The news unsettled him. “When?” Snape frowned.

“Next Saturday.” You lowered your head, regretting one of your biggest mistakes.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No. I mean… yes! Yes, I really do want you to come!” you gave him a weak smile, “but you shouldn’t. Don’t want to drag you into this shit…”

“As you wish,” a little disappointed, Snape agreed with your decision. In situation like this he himself would definitely not want someone to pity him. You had your right for privacy. If you’d feel more comfortable on your own, he wouldn’t insist.

“Thank you, Severus,” you whispered. “Thank you for offering.”

“Everything will be all right,” Snape cheered you up. “If you change your mind, let me know,” he smiled and you nodded. Grateful for his concern, you looked Severus in the eyes. There was something so comforting about his glance, you couldn’t help believing him.

Thin drizzle which damped school grounds since dawn was now growing thicker splattering haphazardly against your windows. Soon the downpour lashed, and through the rain drenches came first long low rumbles of thunder.

“Ah, the storm,” you joyfully shrank into the backrest, while chaos raged outside. As long as Severus was here, you didn’t mind staying in your little shelter like forever.

“I guess, now I’m trapped here,” Snape assumed showing no discontent. He was happy to stick with you until it all ended, now that he had a good excuse.

“More tea?” you chuckled and Snape tossed his cup towards you.

A dim light flickered through the drops lazily sliding down your office windowpane deep in the night. Passing by, one could discern two relaxed silhouettes sitting across each other talking... or maybe sleeping? It made no difference since no one passed by and didn’t see a thing.

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[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #103: Thomas Edison

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re making the king of inventions, the Presi-King of the US of A, and the man who turned every president of the United States into his underwear, Thomas Edison! This inventor’s one cool cat, with a World Faith Domination that can alter the hearts and minds of a nation while also shutting down any other illusions that might be affecting them. You also make robots sometimes. You also, of course, get plenty of that good ol’ American DC current!

Check out the Presi-king’s build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: What’s that thing you shout when you jump off stuff again?

Race and Background

The good Presi-king’s a cat, but he’s a lot chunkier than most of the ones we’ve built so far. Fortunately, WotC have us covered with the Leonin. We’re also using Tasha’s variant race rules to mix up the ability score bonuses. Being a Leonin gives Eddy boy +2 Constitution and +1 Intelligence. He also gets Darkvision, Claws for additional unarmed damage, Hunter’s Instincts, giving him proficiency in Athletics, and a Daunting Roar, using a bonus action to force a wisdom save (DC 8 plus your constitution modifier plus your proficiency bonus) against nearby creatures, frightening them if they fail, once per short rest.

He’s also a Guild Artisan, for Insight and Persuasion proficiency. The sciences aren’t big in the Forgotten Realms, but he’s good enough at building things to get by.

Ability Scores

Put your highest ability into Intelligence. The king of inventors is smart, pretty simple. After that is Charisma, you can put on a good show when you have to. Follow this up with Dexterity, then Constitution. You’re a nerd, but you’ve got a fancy outfit on that helps a bit. This does mean your Strength is a little low, but we’ll get ways to fix that later. We’re dumping Wisdom though. History has proven that direct current just isn’t as good as alternating current in most instances. Also you’re happy to waste tons of resources on your schemes as long as they don’t come from America, which is pretty unwise.

Class Levels

1. Artificer 1: No points for guessing this one. First level artificers have proficiency with Constitution and Intelligence saves, as well as Arcana (which is the closest thing to science in D&D) and Investigation. You also get Magical Tinkering, which adds minor effects to small items, and Intelligence based Spells. 

Speaking of spells, you get first level spells now, plus some cantrips. You can technically use all of them, but you have to prepare them beforehand. With a limited amount of prep, you have to pick and choose what you focus on. For cantrips, Lightning Lure adds a little spark to your life, and Dancing Lights puts on a show when necessary. You can also prepare spells like Grease, Alarm, and Snare as your first inventions. You can also learn Identify to investigate other items you come across, and turn them into your own with some improvements.

2. Artificer 2: Speaking of improvements, second level artificers can actually do that with Infuse Item. After working on an item over your long rest, you can add an infusion to it that lasts until you die or you infuse more than your limit. At level two, you can make an Armor of Magical Strength, which will give you a limited use muscle body. When you make a strength check or save you can use one of six charges to add your intelligence modifier to the roll. You can also spend a charge to avoid falling prone. An Enhanced Weapon might also be a good fit for your fighters, adding 1 to all attack and damage rolls. Sending Stones are more Bell’s thing, but he’s not here, so he won’t mind. Finally, you can also make a Homunculus Servant for the start of your mighty robot army.

3. Artificer 3: We’ll continue to build your army by becoming a Battle Smith, gaining you extra spells like Heroism and Shield to inspire and protect your meatshields. You’re also Battle Ready, allowing you to use martial weapons (that’ll come in handy later) and use your intelligence instead of strength when attacking with magic weapons.

You can also build a Steel Defender, though sadly only one. It’s a medium construct that can make melee attacks, heal itself and other constructs, though only if you spend your bonus action each turn commanding it to do so. It’s built-in hardware only has melee attacks, but building a gun shouldn’t be too complicated for you.

You can also build The Right Tool for the Job over a short rest, magically creating a set of artisan’s tools.

4. Artificer 4: Now that we have martial weapons proficiency, use this Ability Score Increase to get the Fighting Initiate feat for a new fighting style. The Unarmed Fighting style will add even more oomph to your punches than before. I’d argue that magicking up some gloves with tinkering would count them as magic weapons, but that’s something to argue with your DM over. You’ll be good either way by the end of the build, but that would get your there much faster. 

5. Wizard 1: Speaking of complicated, here’s a billion extra spells. Wizards get a whole new list that’s kept in their spellbook and use Intelligence to cast. You also gain an Arcane Recovery, letting you recover spell slots on a short rest with a total level equal to half your wizard level rounded up.

For cantrips, Light and Prestidigitation will help you put on a show, and Mending can repair your Steel Defender for free. You can also make a horror movie to Cause Fear, use Color Spray to blind people with science, Magic Missile for caster balls, Unseen Servant for another robot buddy, Silent Image for classic films, and Protection from Evil and Good for the anti-mysticism effects.

(We know Unseen Servant doesn’t have an actual visible body, but it’s a straight downgrade from RAW, so it’s an easy sell for your DM.)

6. Wizard 2: You make movies, and the closest thing we can get in D&D would be Illusions. As an Illusion Savant, it costs you half as much gold to copy illusion spells. You also get an Improved Minor Illusion that can create sound and images at the same time.

You also get Tenser’s Floating Disk for a carrier robot, and Find Familiar for yet another non-combat drone. For those of you playing along at home, you can now have a familiar, a defender, a homunculus, and either a servant or floating disk with concentration. You’re not exactly a military powerhouse yet, but you’re getting there.

7. Artificer 5: Fifth level artificers get an Extra Attack each attack action, as well as second level spells. Your specialties are Branding Smite and Warding Bond, but you can also make Magic Mouths to leave behind recordings, and use See Invisibility to look past others’ illusions.

8. Artificer 6: Sixth level artificers have Tool Expertise, doubling your tool proficiencies. You can also make another infusion at once, and learn two more to fill that slot. A Spell-Refueling Ring is great for casters pulling an all-nighter, and Gloves of Thievery aren’t really in character, but they’re an excuse to use Battle Ready with your unarmed attacks.

9. Artificer 7: Every once in a while you have a Flash of Genius. Normally this would lead to some country that isn’t America getting ransacked for natural resources, but in D&D it means you can react to add your intelligence modifier to any saving throw or check done within 30 feet of you. This can be used a number of times per long rest equal to your intelligence modifier.

10. Wizard 3: Third level wizards get second level spells. You specifically get Dragon’s Breath and Enhance Ability to improve your robots’ combat capabilities. (I mean, breathing fire would improve anything’s combat capabilities, but using it on your robots is in character.)

11. Wizard 4: Use this ASI to bump up your Intelligence for better... well, everything. You also get the Friends cantrip and Suggestion spell to help bury that busybody Tesla with your social connections, and Flock of Familiars for, you guessed it, more robots.

12. Wizard 5: Fifth level wizards get third level spells, like Dispel Magic and Remove Curse for more anti-mysticism tech.

13. Wizard 6: Sixth level illusionists can make Malleable Illusions, allowing you to change what an illusion spell you’ve cast is depicting as an action. You can also cast Major Image now, and Lightning Bolt will bolster your lagging electrical toolkit.

14. Artificer 8: Eighth level artificers get another ASI and not much else, but it does mean your Intelligence is now maxed out for the strongest spells and most flashes of genius possible.

15. Artificer 9: Your Arcane Jolt can deal extra damage or heal people when you hit a creature with your own magical weapons or your steel defender. When you’re as busy as you are, fitting as much into a single action as possible is paramount.

You also get third level spells again, specializing in an Aura of Vitality and the ability to Conjure Barrage. You can also create a Tiny Servant for yet another construct, or use Protection from Energy and Elemental Weapon to add even more electricity into your party’s life.

16. Artificer 10: Tenth level artificers are Magic Item Adepts, letting you attune for four magic items at once, and crafting common and uncommon magic items are much faster and cheaper. 

You can also cast Guidance now, because why not, and learn two more invocations. Helm of Awareness gives you more situational awareness, and Gauntlets of Ogre Strength gives you punches that don’t require technicalities to deal damage.

17. Artificer 11: Eleventh level artificers can make Spell Storing Items, storing magical effects in weapons and focii. The spell has to be on the artificer list, 2nd level or lower, and take one action to cast.

18. Artificer 12: Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity for a better AC. Your armor’s pretty good, but you should help it where you can.

19. Artificer 13: After five levels, you finally bump up to fourth level spells, with the specialty spells Aura of Purity and Fire Shield. You can also Fabricate items out of nothing, and your robot army finally gets more power with Mordenkainen’s Faithful Hound and Summon Construct. (Like Unseen Servant, the Faithful Hound shouldn’t be visible, but again, an easy sell to your DM.)

20. Artificer 14: Your capstone level makes you a Magic Item Savant, giving you yet another attunement slot, and the ability to ignore class and race requirements when using magic items.

You also get Mage Hand for another kind of drone, and two new infusions. Amulet of Health will make you a bit tougher, and Gem of Seeing will help you see through enemy illusions for one final bit of anti-mystic technology.

Pros:

With proper flavoring, your robot army can be super useful, despite the small number of them that can directly attack creatures. Use familiars to revive fallen teammates or even turn macguffins into Tiny Servants at a distance, TS up your fighter’s crossbow so it’ll reload itself, or use unseen servants as stealth bombers. The world is your toolbox.

You’re also good at destroying other magic, with magic items to help see through illusions and invisibility and spells like Dispel Magic and Remove Curse to tear up mysticism affecting your party and your path forward.

Your spells and artifacts are powerful, but there’s something to be said for just being able to punch people. Maybe your DM wants to take you down a peg by tearing up all your robots, only to get the shock of their life when you’re still able to hold your own.

Cons:

While you can survive without your infusions, you’re still tied to your gear in the long run, with infusions providing you the toughness necessary to get into melee range to begin with, and your spellbook holding a sizeable chunk of what you can cast at any given time.

You also have low wisdom, so without your gear you might have a hard time seeing through illusions.

Despite your impressive physique and robot army, most of your gear is suited for indirect combat at best. You can punch and shoot lightning if you have to, but getting other people to be the muscle is still going to be your plan A.

[sparkexplosive]

Sentiment [Izuku Midoriya] ; 07

Precious Chapters in Sentiment [Izuku Midoriya] SERIES

Word Count: 1,442

Midoriya Izuku has taken a shower after meeting Misaka to get his shoes fixed. His hair was slightly wet, but still, small droplets of water had fallen on top of the metal suitcase with the red ribbon attracted onto it while holding a red envelope. 

With his shaky hands, he removes the enveloped to the side to read afterward. He unclips the locks with a swift of his thumbs pushing down, with a click popping it slightly open. He takes a deep breath and opens the lid to reveal two gloves identical to his current gloves, but with different features. 

He could feel something heavy weighing on his chest, as his eyes immediately landed on the other suitcase only to open it hastily to reveal two red-colored shoes with feature details that he could pick up. 

His vision gets blurred with tears and instantly remembers your guys' conversations months ago. 

“Do you mean shock absorbing equipment?” You tilted your head in questions when he was in his rambles episodes. 

“Yeah! Like maybe filtering the wind force of my punches or kicks would help the equipment to last longest” Midoriya moved his hands around rapidly but you understood every word he was saying. 

“It would protect your bones and muscles, knowing you break a bone once in a while.” You thought which protest from Midoriya by your side comment. 

“You remember.” He softly touches the feature of the trademark of his hero sign carved onto the side of the shoes to the gloves. He could see how much time you put into this and made sure it would be comfortable as possible without restraining his moves. 

He reaches over to the enveloped to read open gently trying not to tear the envelope. He wonders what the letter holds. He knows this was supposed to be his gift as a celebration of their anniversary. 

Happy Anniversary!

I hope you enjoy the new equipment I created for you, hopefully it will help you get closer to archiving your dream. 

They are just custom to your size and comfort, hopefully I got it everything correct, do let me know if it isn't right. 

I hope you enjoy your logo on your shoes. ❤️

Every time, you need some reassurance why to continue fighting to stay alive to look at your costume. 

Remember you have a mother and a mentor to come to at the end of the day, 

your costume presenting your mother’s love and support, 

as your gloves and shoes presenting the presence of your mentor, All Might be helping you through your journey. 

I may not be there every step of the way since we are taking different paths of careers, but we always find time to be together in our busy schedules. 

A lot of love, 

[Your Signature]

The letter crumbles in his grasp with tears running down on his cheeks to fall on the piece of paper that caused him to get a wave of a roller coaster of his feelings that he is going through. 

He grasps onto his shirt off his shirt to only fist it against his chest. The memories of you scolding him for being so reckless and giving him a better version of his custom from before every single time. You work your butt off to always give him the best quality that you could do with anyone to do that. You care about him and you prove that through your inventions. You always deliver it with a smile on your face. 

He gets reminded by Misaka words, “Take them and think would someone go through deep ends to create something so accurate for your liking and safety if they didn’t care about you.” 

He could see how much work you put into his shoes and gloves that would be added to the suit that you would have made for him for the Invention event. The blueprint of what his costume would have looked like before this incident even happened. 

The effort.

The amount of time you took to plan this suit for him and create the equipment. 

The care. 

The heavyweight of the guilt of not believing you or hearing you out was burying him whole. It was eating him alive. 

He doesn’t know what to do! 

His tearful green eyes land on a picture of his mother smiling at the camera with him on her mother’s birthday. 

“Honey, you can come to me for anything at any time.” His mother's voice echoes through his mother. 

Perhaps his mother could give him advice on how to fix this big mess.

Once he recollects himself, he puts on the gadgets you created and an opportunity to try them out just like Misaka had suggested, before opening the side door of his balcony to jump off. He could feel the lightweight of the shoes compared to his previous ones where you could feel the heavyweight of his boots every time he jumps or walks. 

He needed to get some fresh air and think about what he could do. 

He does realize how comfortable gadgets are and filter the air out from the impact when he lands similar to what he had talked about to you.

Midoriya realized how blinded he was and didn't see what was in front of him. 

A loyal trustful partner. 

Believing into the rumors that [Name] was just using him when in reality, 

They cared about him and his well being. 

_________________________________________________

As time flies, the light blue sky becomes overwhelmed with the darkness of the night. 

From the distance could be seen as a green-haired teen walking through the dorm building covered with filth mixed with sweat. 

There was less tension on his shoulders as if the heavyweight he was holding vanish. 

The heartfelt talk with his mother helps him to think through how he should proceed from here and forward. He was thankful for his mother to give him advice. He knows All might isn’t the best person to ask advice along feeling awkward due to the relation to [Name]. He knows that All might and [Name] don’t have the best father and child relationship but is getting better over time. 

He just needs to figure out how to get in contact with you, since he broke his phone while jumping and running on top of buildings. 

Meanwhile, in the dorm kitchen, a certain duo was hanging out there eating a quick snack before hitting the showers after a long day of training and hard work. 

“What’s up with you and [Nickname] ?” Kirishima asks his best friend who gave him a dirty look but continues to eat his sandwich leaning over the bar counter. 

“Do you have a crush on them or something? The way you defend them ever since this dram-.” Kirishima was lighthearted chuckling before looking at Bakugou who was giving him an annoyed glare to shut up which caused him to choke on his sandwich. 

Bakugou hastily pushes a water bottle in front of the redhead, who immediately drinks to get rid of the struck food on his throat. He was hitting his chest, before speaking up. “Do you?”

“Why you fucking care? It's none of your business.” The explosive quirk user splats out to him and only glances over to the hall where he thought he has seen some kind of movement at his corner of his eye. 

Kirishima leans into Bakugou's space and stares at him which makes the other male growl at him. 

“You aren’t declining it.” He gives him a teasing smile.

He backs away and gives the other male his space back with a soft smile. “So you did catch feelings for them when you helped them with their other projects. I mean I wouldn’t blame you. They are an amazing inventor, matching with a great personality. I am not saying this, because I am dating their best friend but I have met them and know who they are.”  

Bakugou doesn’t say anything for a few moments and throws his trash away. “If I did, it's not a crime. It wasn’t planned.” 

In the hallway reveals the ex of the person they are talking about leaning against the wall while eavesdropping when he caught his ex's name being mentioned. Midoriya was shocked at hearing the news but wasn't at the same time. He knows Bakugou and [Name] did work together for her other gadgets that he couldn’t help her with beta testing them, previously and now working for the inventor event which he doesn’t blame them for changing to a different person and respecting his personal space. He knew [Nickname] has good intentions and respected his space until he was ready to confront her to having a conversation. 

He should have let her speak, before his anxiety thinking the worst things. But he has thought thoroughly speaking with his mother and traveling all the way here. 

Perhaps you needed the money for something. He doesn't know about it. You don’t seem to be a person of greed. 

He just regrets all his actions when he reacted to the rumors adding to the gossip around the school didn’t help. He let his own emotions cloud his rational thinking. 

He sneaks off the hallway as quiet as possible.

How does he even approach you?

What does he even say to you?

Midoriya scratches his head while heading to his room to get some clean clothes and head to the showers.

________________________________________________

Any predictions / theories are welcome. I would love to know what you guys are thinking. Thank you so much for supporting this series. I would like to mention I might be getting another series in bnha x reader fandom, as I have few ideas in mind. 

Also, what do you think of me creating another book where holds deleted scenes or unpublished series introduction chapters that were never published. I don't know if you guys would be interested in that. Anyways let me know your thoughts on the ideas that I have mention or this chapter.

Please be kind within the comments. I hope you are enjoying the story. Sorry for any spelling or grammar errors.

if anyone wishes to be tagged, either send me an ask or comment below this post! Taglist will be in the comments.

[mystxmomo]

Title: infinitum ad absurdum

Fandom: Identity V

Chapters: 1/2/?

Description:

At some point, the unconventional became conventional, and odd became the normality.

None of them are quite sure when that switch happened, exactly.

Link: Ao3

==

Luca, for whatever reason, has no matches that day

("We only used to play one game a day. If that," Emma had told him, once, not exactly complaining, but not exactly pleased, "It didn’t use to be so bad, actually! But I guess as more people joined us, they figured we had enough to run more games."

"It still wouldn't be too bad, if they spaced out when we played," Tracy had followed up, "But it gets kind of tiring, doing three games in a row."

Luca can't say he understands, or even really relates. By the time he'd come to the manor, it was what was expected of them. And it’s nice, having things to do.)

It’s not that he’s ungrateful for the break. It’s actually been a while, since he’s had a day to himself. It’s just odd. He’s fallen into being in two, three games a day, and filling the time between with odd chores and mapping out his inventions. He’s not sure what to do with himself here.

So Luca spends the morning pacing about his room till his legs shake, chewing on the end of his glove like it’s going to solve his inquiries. He lays back on his bed and focuses on the spots in the ceiling until he convinces himself he can see the grains crawling in the wood, folds his fingers atop of one another and closes his eyes and thinks that maybe the room around him is a few degrees colder than when he walked in.

Luca’s room is a mess of papers and equipment, crumpled up, torn apart, and put back together all at once. He has books he can hardly read opened to pages he doesn’t remember getting to, scribbles on paper that he’s been told are ineligible to everyone but himself. Some of the papers have been there long enough that there are shoe prints printed on them like a stamp, and others tainted with drops of blood from matches that went a bit too poorly. He’s long forgotten what’s written on them, but despite his efforts can’t bring himself to clean it.

He.. doesn’t like spending time alone in it. Despite the mess, it feels too empty. Too open, despite its rather small size. Even without the work he’d left spread about it, it had always felt just a little too dirty, and a little too run down to be a proper sort of workspace. The floor always seemed to have dirt in the cracks that just wouldn’t come up with a good scrub, the mirrors that came with the room aged and blackening at the sides, misted over with an eerie fog.

He’d covered them. The Mirrors, he means, with more pages. Doesn’t need to look at his face these days.

He considers trying to break out the last project he was working on

Thing is, he’s not entirely sure which one that is. He’s got a stack of papers on his bedside table, one on his desk, one at the end of his bed. He considers absentmindedly flipping through them.

Now Tracy.. Tracy is a good work partner. The type to not interrupt a good flow. Rather, The type of person to be comfortable with an uncomfortable silence. He doesn’t even think she notices the silence become uncomfortable, really. Maybe that's just him. She does not notice when he stumbles in late to the little corner of the manors library that they’ve carved out for themselves, and she does not question the look on his face as he descatters his mind and tries to get into a new project.

He sort of wishes she was around, today. She’s not. He’d pestered her about it if she was.

So he gathers the papers that look the newest off his desk and makes his way down to the dining hall.

==

The house is quiet, without many people in it.

The dining room especially so. The place is big enough to house all of them and then some. The sort of environment that's both ever changing, but always familiar. The chairs and table have been moved aside more than once, be it to train new comers in the ways of distraction, half hearted parties to mimic normality, or acting as grounds to host various “parkour contests” between Mike and Naib. It’s a room meant not just to live in, but to host .

But right now, the sheer length of the room is overwhelming, and the fire does little to cut through the chill that seeps in through too thin glass. There’s someone in the kitchen, messing with pots and pans, and the ticking of the clock echoes throughout. He’s not used to being able to hear those, over the sound of chatter.

The only person in the room is Norton Campbell, sitting at the farthest end of the table. He only offers him a glance and a nod.

Now. Norton Campbell has sort of. Dead eyes.

That's the way he'd put it. Dead.

He's seen the look in prison, before. On the sort that had been there for decades longer than he had, who had given up on their hope for the world. Moved onto each new day in a blind haze, because they really had no other choice than to keep living. It was the sort of look he’d only ever seen in those that life had handed a truly horrid fate.

It had been his goal to never turn to that, while in prison. And Norton, he thinks, is too young to have that look about him.

Luca doesn't mind his presence, despite this. Sure, he can be pretty.. moody, at times. One moment he can be perfectly fine, and then anger over something like the clicking of Vera’s heels, or the bouncing of Mike's leg, or some other small inconsequential shit that no one else noticed or minded.

(Luca supposed he wasn't any better in that regard. None of them were, considering that their only access to the outside world was an, admittedly, quite large, rundown garden, and whatever odd places the manor seemed to pull them to. Not everyone was use to that. Easy to get stir crazy, he supposed.)

He doesn’t mind Norton, is the point. He’s easy to be around.

He doesn’t think Norton feels same way about him.

Luca can be slow these days, but not slow enough to pick up on more obvious tells. Norton doesn’t really ever seem to want to talk. Luca tends to talk at him, more than he does with him. And that’s fine, really. He has enough idea’s floating around in his skull to fill a conversation for three people. But he can’t help but feel like he’s sort of, pissing him off one way or the other.

But Luca doesn’t have a filter, and Norton hasn’t told him to fuck off just yet. So he takes a seat across from him uninvited, draws his legs up to his chest and spreads the papers out and about around him, "No games today either?" He offers, just as small talk.

Norton shrugs, and keeps his focus on polishing his magnets.

And that is about normal, for the two of them. Easy, familiar interaction.

He tries to work like that, for a while. Fingers flip through past plans and half drawn machines and tries to decide on if there’s one he wants to try continuing. It’s been a while since he’s actually tried to build something. His fingers are itching to actually get into building something. He’s somewhat envious of Tracy, in that regard. She can just build . Doesn’t need to, or even try, to put any actual thought into what she’s building. Most of what she creates are absolute messes of machines, built quick and sloppy and not meant to last because she’s just going to take it apart and put it back together again.

Luca has never been able to do that. He needs the plans out in front of him. Needs to see what he’s about to build, needs to know it’s going to run. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it will be study, and functional, and that’s where he’s getting stuck.

He notices the way Norton raises his gaze to glance at the various pages he’s suddenly sprawled about, but doesn’t say anything on the matter. And this is normally the part he’d, uncalled for but uninterrupted, try and walk him through whatever the latest big plan he wanted to try and tackle was. An idea that could never rival the one he’d lost and craved, but still managed to humor him for a period of time. He never did seem to get past the planning stages of these. Always left his palms aching for something more, electricity sparking at his finger tips as excitement built and anticipation pulled at him. But never truly gave him the relief of creation.

But that's not what's currently on his mind. His mind is wandering, to old dusty curtains and intricate wooden trimmings. Head spins not from the ideas of new inventions, but rather of

Instead, he finds himself asking;

"So do you have a theory," he asks, leans closer, speaks on it a little too casually.

"...What?"

"You know," He hesitates, "About the house?"

The look on Norton's face tells him he does not, in fact, know what he's talking about. He glances up from his polishing work, the careful work suddenly slowing to a halt, "What?" He repeats, more curious this time.

Luca.. blinks. Pauses. Considers it for a second. Who he’s talking to, and what he just brought up. Then his eyes widen, and hands grip the edge of the table, "Sorry- I uh,” He reaches for his pen, just to have something to hold, “Thought I brought it up already! It must have been with someone else.”

“Well. I figured as much,” Norton tilts his head, like he’s still thinking about it despite that fact, “Is there something wrong with the manor?” And Luca knows he’s asking that in a technical sort of way. Is there something wrong with the pipes? Or maybe about the owner? He’s sure whatever it is Norton is worried about, it’s not the intangible darkness that lurks just out of reach.

He doesn’t know how to approach that line of thought, either.

“Ah. It’s. Nothing like that,” He says, feeling a bit of deja vu. Norton doesn’t seem to accept that as an answer. He’s still looking. Waiting for more. And that sort of pressure gets Luca’s skin crawling. So he laughs, like he’s joking about the information he’s about to present, “It’s just.. The manor is kinda weird. Don’t you think?”

“Explain,” Nortons response is immediate, and blunt. He’s put down his magnets, focused his attention on Luca. And Luca can’t just leave him hanging, can he?

“Well!” He claps his hands together, “It started cause I was- I think I was talking to tracy, right? And I was wondering about the house. And it’s really big, right? Like, honestly it seems kinda, bigger on the inside then it should be, but thats besides the point,” It wasn’t. He’s getting there, “So I asked her- at least I think it was her, if she’s seen the whole house. And she said, no, probably not. Which makes sense, because the hunters have their own part of the manor. And I haven't seen that.”

Norton nods along, slowly, eyebrows furrowing down as he attempted to follow his ramblings.

“But, I don’t even think that I’ve seen all of our side of this place. Which is weird. That’s weird, right?”

Norton.. Nods. Again, Slowly.

“Right! And then I was talking to.. I guess that part doesn’t matter, but- She sort of got me thinking, that like. There’s something wrong with the house itself?” Luca suddenly feels lightheaded. Collapses back into his chair, “It’s not just us, it's like we don't belong here. And- And!" He raises his hands up, "The more I think about it, the more things about this place don't actually make sense. I mean, do rooms just kind of grow when new people come?? How do we even get to, the matches. How does all the food get in the kitchen," He's breathing heavy, he realizes. Needs to pull back from his rambling. He claps his hand over his mouth to physically force himself to stop, peaks at the expression on Nortons face.

“Hm..” Norton, when pressed to it, is the sort to think about what he wants to say before he says it. Luca has seen him get heated enough to spit out the first insult that comes to mind, knows he can have a particularly sharp tongue towards the hunters. He’d heard more cursing in a single match with Norton than he’d heard in a lifetime. Had even heard him tell off a few of their own teammates with the same callous language.

But that doesn’t change the fact that the anticipation of waiting for his answer is nerve wracking, sometimes. He rolls the magnets in his hands,

“Back when I was mining,” Is how he starts, and Luca finds himself stilling in his chair. He doesn’t think he’s heard Norton talk much about his mining experiences at all. Seems to be a sort of touchy subject for him. But he doesn’t seem very apprehensive about the line of thought he’d decided on, and so Luca listens with rasp attention, “We use to dig into natural cave systems. It didn’t happen all the time. But it happened enough. And some of these systems, right? Completely dry, mineral wise. But went on for miles.”

Norton isn’t a natural storyteller. He sees the way he hesitates before continuing, like he’s suddenly hyper aware of Luca’s eyes on him. How he shifts, sincerely uncomfortable, “Being underground is different. It’s one thing, with manmade caverns. Those are meticulously mapped out. For all the risky business that comes with keeping them stable, they’re contained. It’s not as easy to get lost, when you’ve been working the same route for months at a time. But caves. They twist. No reason to them. A lot of the paths look the same, so it’s easy to get lost in there. You don’t know what you’re going to find, when you get deeper in there. Sometimes you’d have men who would go searching further in. Hoping to find something better, in the depths no one else want’s to venture to.”

“.. What's that got to do with anything?” He can’t really help but ask, tilts his head. Norton looks at him. Long, and hard.

“You probably won’t believe me. But, sometimes, when you’re miles underground, you hear things,” He says, his voice suddenly lowering.

“Things,” Luca says, as prompting.

“Things that shouldn’t be there,” Norton tries to clarify, his eyebrows stitching together, “Screaming. Running water in an otherwise dry cavern. Footsteps. One of the men came up lookin’ like they saw a ghost. Said they’d heard a child crying down in the mines. I believe ‘em. Don’t know if it’s the caves playing tricks on their head, or if it’s something entirely.”

The crackling of the fire is like white noise. He stares at it, instead of Norton.

“So you agree then?” He finally asks, because he’s not sure what else to bring up, “That there could be something here. With us.”

He thinks he sees Nortons lip twitch up, “Well. It’s no cave system, but never said I disagreed,” Norton takes a more relaxed posture, “I just think that it’s not worth poking the unknown. I never wanted to know what was crying in the mines, you know?”

And Luca thinks, maybe that sounds too much like a talltale to believe. But he's in no place to judge, and Nortons being sincere, and so he nods, and listens to the way the ticking clocks echos about the room instead.

[crystalsexarch]

One: Foster - G

"What are you looking at, Garlond?"

“Oh, nothing. But for a moment I thought perhaps...a half-decent man.”

-

General. Specific male WoL Bas'ir Bahani. Nero tol Scaeva finds himself strangely invested in the Warrior of Light's tinkering.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

"That seems to be coming along nicely."

Nero speaks casually, but the words have a great and immediate effect. Bas’ir’s tinkering ceases and the frenzy begins with bristling tail and sputtering curse words. The miqo’te drops what he’s working on and flashes a paranoid gaze over his shoulder before realizing where the words have come from.

“Hm? Me? My?” Bas’ir pats his thighs and turns back to his makeshift desk to assess the resulting chaos of his surprise. At least one component has wound up on the bright, industrial floor. For some peculiar reason, he has taken to working in the Interdimensional Rift between Omega’s trials. Nero doesn’t imagine the location is particularly convenient for the boy, but what does a Garlean expatriate know about warrioring and savioring? No, Nero knows engineering, and that’s why he approached today in the first place. Vague, scientific curiosity and nothing more.

“Some manner of converter,” Nero says, more than asks. He’s holding a cup of coffee at his lips and squinting, his other hand on his hip. “Have you taken inspiration from—”

“I have.” Bas’ir collects the tiny silver cube from the floor and sets it back on his desk with a clink. A hint of pride colors the curl of his lips as he turns to face the senior engineer. “Of course I have.”

“Of course.”

“Of course!” Bas’ir folds his hands in his lap. The Warrior is wearing his daily arm; in the past, Nero has seen him switch out the elegant prosthetic for a more precision-oriented model. Something clunkier, louder, impossible to hide beneath a pair of gloves. But Bas’ir isn’t wearing his gloves right now, either. The metal digits of his left hand are bare for the world—or at least for Nero—to see.

Nero sips his coffee. Those digits used to look far more mechanical and move with far less grace. “And what designs do you have for this inspired technology?”

“My goal here is to achieve...to enhance sensation, rather" Bas'ir says with a nod of his head. "And for that, I will need more power at any given moment. My current system affords me little with which to explore less essential functionality."

“Bolstering your reserves, then?” Nero gestures to a mess of thread-thin wires at the edge of the desk. If he has the right of it (and surely Nero tol Scaeva does) Bas’ir is taking a simple trick used by mammeteers and making it much more complicated. Instead of powering the arm with his own energy, he’ll be adding an additional source of fuel to be drawn upon.

“Indeed. More ceruleum to supplement what aether I can reasonably provide.” Bas’ir follows Nero’s gaze and fishes aimlessly for the wires, runs his thumb of flesh over the bunch. At his backside, his tail swishes back and forth, like he’s waiting for something to happen. Both of his ears are perked up and trained on the Garlean.

“Hm.” It will probably work, but Nero lets this go unsaid. With an eyebrow raised, he waves his hand and prepares to take his leave. “You and your aether! Carry on, Bas’ir.” He walks away, headed for his own little workshop in the Rift, where a journal full of recent observations waits to be annotated.

These days spent with Cid’s ragtag bunch of heroes, mechanics, and dreamers have been scientifically compelling, emotionally tolerable. Nero likes playing the villain to his old rival’s stalwart, pioneering image. There’s a spark of glory in pessimistic nagging, although Nero would certainly never verbalize such an admission. In some ways, he has come to enjoy being proven wrong. He has come to enjoy being reacted to, for better or worse. Some of these people make him feel more important, more valued than his Garlean superiors ever did.

Surely this thought pattern is merely a symptom of him needing more coffee, he thinks. He takes a sip and settles into his seat, thumbing at the journal without opening it.

Whirring and buzzing sounds drift from Bas’ir’s table to Nero’s side of the room. Yes, the boy’s plan should work, Nero reckons. Ceruleum may not come so naturally as the body’s pure aether, but should the Warrior find himself lacking for fuel, he will more or less be able to operate without great sacrifice. The arm will move, even if its master cannot pluck two pages apart without keeping an eye on those unfeeling mechanical fingers. The modification shall not pose much hazard to the realm’s apparent savior. The world can rest easy.

But can Nero? He takes another sip. He’s been meaning to clean up these notes for a while now, but his thoughts linger on that converter. It may be new equipment to Bas’ir, but it’s certainly not new to Nero. He’s built them, deconstructed them invented them. Any of the homeland’s machina would be littered with similar components, each a miniature version of the empire itself, collecting power and funneling it to the various places it needs to go. All budding Garlean builders would know how to install one and begin the process of transmuting ceruleum into motion, into battle, into war!

Of course, activating such a device can be tricky for novice engineers. The machinery is swift, efficient; it siphons well and siphons quickly. Normally, the faster it collects its power, the better, but since Bas'ir means to draw in part from his own body, there ought to be safeguards in place to ensure the damn thing doesn't take too much from him too fast.

Bas’ir would know these things, wouldn’t he? He’s been working with adjacent technology for the better part of two years now, loosely under Nero’s guidance, and under Cid’s when that isn’t possible. But what if the silly boy should underestimate the pull of this borrowed gadget? What if he gets too excited about his little ideas and winds up frying himself on his desk, or worse—frying that treasured arm he’s been toiling with since his horrible accident!

Nero stands and starts walking. “Bas’ir, a moment—”

The miqo’te looks over his shoulder with wide eyes. He’s got a thin scrap of metal between his teeth now and a web of wiring between his hands. Nero follows the lines to a large metal box, glowing blue beneath the desk. That can only mean…

“Ah! You’re diverting power from a tertiary source,” Nero says. “How responsible of you.”

Bas’ir nods three or four times and begins looking for a place to set his wires down.

“No, no! Don’t let the likes of me interrupt your experiments.” Nero waves his hand again. “Besides, I am very busy and have very many things to do. So really, you’d be interrupting me.” He turns back for his corner of the Rift, satisfied that no one will see the smug little grin on his face. Why, it almost looks like pride!

Someone does see, though—the worst possible person. Cid, who's been sorting through a supply shipment from Rhalgr's Reach, lifts his head in time to see Nero passing by. They meet eyes and Nero's smile disappears. Was it ever there in the first place? Yes, says the sly look in Cid's eyes. And said smile did not go unnoticed.

"What are you looking at, Garlond?" Nero eyes his rival from the side and shifts his weight to one leg.

Cid pulls himself up from the ground with two hands on a wooden box. “Oh, nothing,” he says. “But for a moment I thought perhaps...a half-decent man.”

Nero’s reaction, like Bas’ir’s earlier, is great and immediate. His head drops forward and his mouth hangs dumbly open in sardonic disbelief. This Garlond! For all his supposed brilliance, he must truly be dense. Nero shakes his head. "I worry for your vision.”

And he certainly doesn't worry for anything else.